FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE   LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


8,ctIo»       ^3^ 


Engraved  fcr  the  Eclecuc  by^  &eo.E.Perine,Ne\\'-Ycrii_ 


5^ 


/  rinced  by  ftRGirMe^Y 


/ 


Songs  of  the  ooul 


GATHERED     OUT     OF 


MANY    LANDS   AND   AGES. 


BY 


^/ 


SAMUEL    IRENiEUS    PRIME, 

AUTHOR   OF    "the    ALHAMBRA    AND    THE     KREMLIN,"      "  THE     POWER    OF     PRAYER, 
ETC.,     ETC- 


NEW    YORK: 
ROBERT    CARTER   AND    BROTHERS, 

530   Broadway 
1874. 


IH 0- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

ROBERT    CARTER    AND    BROTHERS, 
ill  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington 


CAMBRIDGE  : 
PRESS   OF  JOHN    WILSON   AND   SON. 


«»H — 0- 


&- ^ 


TO 


MRS.   MARY    R    STODDARD, 


THIS    VOLUME 


IS    AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


w^ — *-% 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


The  work  has  been  a  great  delight  to  me.  With 
it  has  come  a  sense  that  the  wants  and  utterances 
of  the  soul  have  been  the  same  in  all  climes  and  all 
ages,  and  that  God's  grace  was  as  rich  and  full  and 
free  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  as  it  is  to-day.  ^ide 
by  side  go  up  the  plaintive  utterances  of  the  captive 
queen,  the  passionate  cry  of  the  earth-stained  soul, 
the  triumphant  chant  of  the  redeemed,  the  stirring 
call  of  the  soldier,  the  deep  and  solemn  music  of  the 
mitred  abbot,  the  noble  strains  of  the  cloistered  monk, 
the  clear,  sweet  melody  of  the  martyred  girl ;  and, 
swelling  as  they  rise,  they  blend  into  a  grand  chorus 
of  love  and  of  thanksgiving  that  shall  one  day  shake 
the  skies.  The  work  has  been  itself  its  own  reward  ; 
but  if  any  soul  be  touched  and  drawn  to  a  higher  Hfe, 
any  weak  heart  lifted  up  and  strengthened,  it  will  be 
to  me  an  unspeakable  joy. 


riH— ^ 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 


The  Compiler  desires  to  make  special  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  kindness  of  Messrs.  J.  R.  Osgood 
&  Co.,  in  giving  him  permission  to  use  the  copyright 
poems  of  Longfellow  and  Whittier,  which  adorn  this 
collection.  The  same  courtesy  has  been  cheerfully 
extended  by  the  authors  or  publishers,  in  the  case 
of  the  poems  of  Dr.  Holland,  Dr.  Ray  Palmer,  and 
Phoebe  and  Alice  Cary.  If  there  are  any  poems  in 
this  volume  not  properly  credited,  or  used  without 
permission,  it  has  occurred  through  inadvertence. 

No  alterations  have  been  made  in  any  poems  by 
the  Editor.  He  has  in  all  cases  followed  the  copy 
before  him,  which  may  not,  in  every  instance,  be  the 
original  text  of  the  author. 


m—0 ^>—^h 


CONTENTS. 


Matin  and  Vesper  Songs  :  —  page 

Matin  Songs 3 

Vesper  Songs 18 

Songs  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  :  — 

Songs  to  the  Trinity 39 

Songs  to  the  Father 48 

Songs  to  the  Son 54 

Songs  to  the  Holy  Spirit 66 

Songs  of  Holy-Tides  :  — 

Songs  of  Advent 82 

Songs  of  Christmas S6 

Songs  of  Easter 104 

Songs  of  Sunday 121 

Songs  of  Baptism 126 

Songs  of  the  Holy  Communion 130 

Songs  of  the  Second  Advent 143 

Songs  of  the  Cross 161 

Songs  of  Sorrow 201 

Songs  out  of  the  Depths 249 

Songs  of  Aspiration 297 

Songs  of  Faith 335 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Songs  of  Hope  .     .         373 

Songs  of  Courage :    .    .    .     .  409 

Songs  of  Love 441 

Songs  of  Praise  and  Thanksgiving 481 

Songs  of  Patience 519 

Songs  of  Peace 555 

Songs  of  Triumph 585 


-» — HI 


MATIN      SONGS. 


-c>o5«;o*- 


GOD. 


/^  THOU  eternal  One,  whose  presence  bright 
^-^     All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide ; 
Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  flight , 

Thou  only  God,  there  is  no  God  beside. 
Being  above  all  beings,  Mighty  One, 

Whom  none  can  comprehend  and  none  explore ; 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  tJiyself  'AoYi^^ 
.  Embracing  all,  —  supporting,  —  ruling  o'er, — 

Being  whom  we  call  God  —  and  know  no  more. 

In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean  deep,  may  count 
The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays  ;  but,  God !  for  thee 

There  is  no  weight  nor  measure:  —  none  can  mount 
Up  to  thy  mysteries  ,  reason's  brightest  spark. 

Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark ; 

And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high,   * 

Even  like  past  moments  in  Eternity. 


4  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  did'st  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence  ;  —  Lord,  on  thee 

Eternity  had  its  foundation  ;  —  all 

Sprung  forth  from  thee  —  of  light,  joy,  harmony, 

Sole  origin  ;  —  all  life,  —  all  beauty  thine. 
Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create ; 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  art,  and  wast,  and  shalt  be,  glorious,  great, 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate. 

Thy  chains  the  unmeasured  universe  surround. 

Upheld  by  thee,  by  thee  inspired  with  breath, 
Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound. 

And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death. 
As  sparks  mount  upward  from  the  fiery  blaze. 

So   suns   are   born,    so  worlds    spring    forth    from 
thee ; 
And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 

Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of  Heaven's  bright  army  glitters  in  thy  praise. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  thy  hand 

Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss : 
They  own  thy  power,  accomplish  thy  command, 

All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 
What  shall  we  call  them  ?     Piles  of  crystal  light  — 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams  — 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether,  burning  bright  — 

Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams: 
But  thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes  I  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea. 

All  this  magnificence  in  thee  is  lost ;  — 


MATIN  SONGS.  \ 

What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  thee  ? 

And  what  am  /,  then?      Heaven's   unnumbered 
host, 
Though  multiphed  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 
Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance  weighed 

Against  thy  greatness,  is  a  cipher  brought 

Against  infinity  !     What  am  I  ?  —  Nought ! 

Nought !     But  the  effluence  of  thy  light  divine, 

Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom  too ; 
Yes !  in  my  spirit  doth  thy  Spirit  shine, 

As  shines  the  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 
Nought !     But  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 

Eager  towards  thy  presence :  for  in  thee 
I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell :  aspiring  high, 

Even  to  the  throne  of  thy  divinity. 

I  am,  O  God  I  and  surely  thou  must  be. 

Thou  art,  directing,  guiding  all.  —  Thou  art ! 

Direct  my  understanding  then  to  thee  \ 
Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart ; 

Though  but  an  atom  'midst  immensity. 
Still  I  am  something,  fashioned  by  thy  hand : 

I  hold  a  middle  rank  'twixt  heaven  and  earth ; 
On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand. 

Close   to   the   realms   where   angels   have   their 
birth. 

Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land. 

Creator,  yes  I     Thy  wisdom  and  thy  word 
Created  me.,  thou  source  of  life  and  good ; 


■o — By 


6  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Thou  Spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord ; 

Thy  light,  thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude, 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 

O'er  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 

Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere. 

Even  to  its  source  —  to  thee  —  its  Author  there. 

O  thoughts  ineffable  I  O  visions  blest ! 

Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  thee, 
Yet  shall  thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast. 

And  waft  its  homage  to  thy  Deity. 
God !  thus  alone  my  lowly  thoughts  can  soar ; 

Thus  seek  thy  presence.  Being  wise  and  good ! 
'Midst  thy  vast  works,  admire,  obey,  adore ; 

And,  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more. 

The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 

Derzhavin. 


LORD   GOD   OF   MORNING   AND   OF   NIGHT. 

T    ORD  God  of  morning  and  of  night, 
-*— ^     We  thank  thee  for  thy  gift  of  light : 
As  in  the  dawn  the  shadows  fly. 
We  seem  to  find  thee  now  more  nigh. 

Fresh  hopes  have  wakened  in  the  heart. 
Fresh  force  to  do  our  daily  part ; 
Thy  thousand  sleeps  our  strength  restore, 
A  thousand-fold  to  serve  thee  more. 


■O—Bi. 


MATIN  SONGS.  7 

Yet  whilst  thy  will  we  would  pursue, 
Oft  what  we  would  we  cannot  do ; 
The  sun  may  stand  in  zenith  skies, 
But  on  the  soul  thick  midnight  lies. 

O  Lord  of  lights !  'tis  thou  alone 
Canst  make  our  darkened  hearts  thine  own : 
Though  this  new  day  with  joy  we  see, 
Great  Dawn  of  God  we  cry  for  thee ! 

Praise  God,  our  Maker  and  our  Friend ; 
Praise  him  through  time,  till  time  shall  end ; 
Till  psalm  and  song  his  name  adore, 
Through  Heaven's  great  day  of  Evermore ! 

1688.  Franos  Turner  Palgrave. 


MORNING. 

/^H,  timely  happy,  timely  wise, 
^^     Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise ! 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view. 
Which  evermore  makes  all  things  new  I 

New  every  morning  is  the  love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove ; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought  I 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day. 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray  ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven. 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  heaven. 


^e-HO- 


i.ip;i.  0 0  m 

8  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

If  on  our  daily  course  our  mind 

Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find, 

New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 

God  will  provide  for  sacrifice. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see ; 
Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 

As  for  some  dear  familiar  strain, 
Untir'd,  we  ask  and  ask  again. 
Ever  in  its  melodious  store 
Finding  a  spell  unheard  before; 

Such  is  the  bliss  of  souls  serene, 

When  they  have  sworn,  and  steadfast  mean, 

Counting  the  cost,  in  all  to  espy 

Their  God,  in  all  themselves  deny. 

Oh,  could  we  learn  that  sacrifice, 
What  lights  would  all  around  us  rise ! 
How  would  our  hearts  with  wisdom  talk 
Along  life's  dullest,  dreariest  walk ! 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell, 
Our  neighbor  and  our  work  farewell, 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky. 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask : 
Room  to  deny  ourselves  ;  a  road 
To  bring  us,  daily,  nearer  God. 


4f4— ^ 


MATIN  SONGS.  9 

Seek  we  no  more  I     Content  with  these, 
Let  present  rapture,  comfort,  ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go ; 
The  secret  this  of  rest  below. 

Only,  O  Lord,  in  thy  dear  love, 
Fit  us  for  perfect  rest  above ; 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray ! 

1827.  John  Kkblk. 


VOX   MATUTINA. 

T^ARTH'S  lamps  are  growing  dim, 
-*--'     The  Church's  early  hymn 
Comes  up  in  slow,  soft  sound, 
Like  music  from  the  ground ; 
Her  old  prophetic  psalm 
Fills  the  deep  twilight  calm ! 

Not  yet  his  blossom  wreath 
Of  beams,  from  climes  beneath. 
The  happy  sun  has  bound 
These  mountain  peaks  around ; 
Hardly  yon  cloudlet  high 
Has  caught  the  radiancy. 

Only  the  stars  look  pale. 
As  if  some  luminous  veil 
Were  passing  o'er  their  face, 
Taking,  yet  adding  grace, 


iH — ^ 


0 — m 

lO  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Hiding,  yet  giving  light, 
To  these  fair  gems  of  night. 

The  beacon  lights  still  gleam 
Along  the  ocean-stream, 
Goes  up  no  city-smoke. 
No  city-hum  has  broke 
Earth's  sleep,  or  sounded  forth 
Another  morning's  birth. 

Shake  off  from  us  the  night, 
O  God,  as  sons  of  light ; 
Prepare  us  for  the  day. 
That  at  the  first  faint  ray 
Of  morn  in  eastern  skies 
We  may  with  joy  arise. 

What  though  night's  silence  still 
Broods  over  plain  and  hill ; 
These  shades  will  soon  be  past, 
The  Day-star  comes  at  last  ! 
And  we  shall  welcome  him 
With  our  clear  morning-hymn  ! 

1857.  HORATIUS   BONAR. 


A   CHRISTMAS   MATIN-HYMN. 

"TnWAS  in  the  morning  cold,  when  earth 

■*•       Was  desolate  and  wild. 
That  angels  welcomed  at  his  birth 
The  everlastino:  Child. 


-0 — \\\ 


MA  TIN  SONGS.  1 1 

From  realms  of  ever-brightening  day 

And  from  his  throne  above 
He  came,  with  human  kind  to  stay 

All  lowliness  and  love. 

Then  in  the  manger  the  poor  beast 

Was  present  with  his  Lord ; 
Then  swains  and  pilgrims  from  the  east 

Saw,  wondered,  and  adored. 
And  I  this  morn  would  come  with  them 

This  blessed  sight  to  see. 
And  to  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem 

Bend  low  the  reverent  knee. 

But  I  have  not  —  it  makes  me  sigh  — 

One  offering  in  my  power ; 
'Tis  winter  all  with  me,  and  I 

Have  neither  fruit  nor  flower. 
O  God,  O  Brother,  let  me  give 

My  worthless  self  to  thee ; 
And  that  the  years  which  I  may  live 

May  pure  and  spotless  be ; 


Grant  me  thyself,  O  Saviour  kind, 

Thy  Spirit  undefiled. 
That  I  may  be  in  heart  and  mind 

As  gentle  as  a  child ; 
That  I  may  tread  life's  arduous  ways, 

As  thou  thyself  hast  trod. 
And  in  the  might  of  prayer  and  praise 

Keep  ever  close  to  God. 


12  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Light  of  the  everlasting  morn 

Deep  through  my  spirit  shine ; 
There  let  thy  presence,  newly  born, 

Make  all  my  being  thine. 
Then  try  me  as  the  silver,  try. 

And  cleanse  my  soul  with  care, 
Till  thou  art  able  to  descry 

Thy  faultless  Image  there. 


Black 


MATIN    SONG. 

T  CANNOT  ope  my  eyes, 
-^     But  thou  art  ready  there  to  catch 
My  morning-soul  and  sacrifice : 
Then  we  must  needs  for  that  day  make  a  match. 

My  God !  what  is  a  heart  ? 
Silver,  or  gold,  or  precious  stone, 
Or  star,  or  rainbow,  or  a  part 
Of  all  these  things,  or  all  of  them  in  one? 

My  God  !  what  is  a  heart. 
That  thou  shouldst  it  so  eye,  and  woo. 
Pouring  upon  it  all  thy  art,   , 
As  if  that  thou  hadst  nothing  else  to  do 

Indeed,  man's  whole  estate 

Amounts,  and  richly,  to  serve  thee ; 

He  did  not  heaven  and  earth  create. 

Yet  studies  them,  not  Him  by  whom  they  be. 


-0 — HJ 


MATIN  SONGS.  1 3 

Teach  me  thy  love  to  know, 
That  this  new  light,  which  now  I  see. 
May  both  the  work  and  workman  show : 
Then  by  a  sunbeam  I  will  climb  to  thee ! 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


AS.  A   BIRD   IN   MEADOWS   FAIR. 
{Wie  ein  Vogel  lieblich  singe t.^ 

A  S  a  bird  in  meadows  fair 
•^  ^     Or  in  lonely  forest  sings, 
Till  it  fills  the  summer  air, 

And  the  greenwood  sweetly  rings, 
So  my  heart  to  thee  would  raise, 
O  my  God,  its  song  of  praise. 
That  the  gloom  of  night  is  o'er. 
And  I  see  the  sun  once  more ! 

If  thou,  Sun  of  Love,  arise. 

All  my  heart  with  joy  is  stirred. 
And,  to  greet  thee,  upward  flies. 

Gladsome  as  yon  tiny  bird. 
Shine  thou  in  me  clear  and  bright 
Till  I  learn  to  praise  thee  right ; 
Guide  me  in  the  narrow  way. 
Let  me  ne'er  in  darkness  stray. 

Bless  to-day  whate'er  I  do ; 

Bless  whate'er  I  have  and  love ; 
From  the  paths  of  virtue  true, 

Let  me  never,  never  rove : 


— 0    l.ip. 

14  SOjVGS   of  the  SOl/L. 


^y  thy  Spirit  strengthen  me 
In  the  faith  that  leads  to  thee, 
Then  an  heir  of  life  on  high, 
Fearless  I  may  live  and  die. 


NOW  THAT   THE  DAY-STAR  GLIMMERS  BRIGHT. 
{jfam  lucis  orto  sidere?) 

"IVrOW  that  the  day-star  glimmers  bright, 
^  ^      Pray,  brothers,  bending  low. 
That  He,  the  uncreated  light. 
May  guide  us  as  we  go. 

No  sinful  word,  nor  deed  of  wrong, 

Nor  thoughts  that  idly  rove  ; 
But  simple  truth  be  on  our  tongue. 

And  in  our  hearts  be  love. 

And  while  the  hours  in  order  flow, 

O  Christ,  securely  fence 
Our  gates,  beleaguered  by  the  foe,  — 

The  gate  of  every  sense. 

And  grant,  that  to  thine  honor.  Lord, 

Our  daily  toil  may  tend  ; 
That  we  begin  it  at  thy  word, 

And  in  thy  favor  end. 

And,  lest  the  flesh  in  its  excess 

Should  lord  it  o'er  the  soul. 
Let  taming  abstinence  repress 

The  rebel,  and  control. 


K\\ 0- 


MATIN  SONGS,  1 5 

To  God  the  Father,  glory  be, 

And  to  his  only  Son, 
And  to  the  Spirit  One  and  Three, 

While  endless  ages  run. 

[580.  Trans,  by  Newman,  from  the  Parisian  Breviary. 


A   MORNING   PRAYER. 

(/;;z  Osten  jia7iii7it  einpor  die  goldene  Soime?) 

^  I  ^HE  golden  morn  flames  up  the  eastern  sky, 
-^       And  what  dark  night  had  hid  from  every  eye, 

All  piercing  daylight  summons  clear  to  view : 
And  all  the  forest,  vale,  or  plain,  or  hill. 
That  slept  in  mist  enshrouded,  dark  and  still, 

In  gladsome  light  are  glittering  now  anew. 

Shine  in  my  heart,  and  bring  me  joy  and  light; 
Sun  of  my  darkened  soul,  dispel  its  night, 

And  shed  in  it  the  truthful  day  abroad ; 
And  all  the  many  gloomy  folds  lay  bare 
Within  this  heart,  that  fain  would  learn  to  wear 

The  pure  and  glorious  likeness  of  its  Lord. 

Glad  with  thy  light,  and  glowing  with  thy  love, 
So  let  me  ever  speak  and  think  and  move 

As  fits  a  soul  new-touched  with  light  from  Heaven, 
That  seeks  but  so  to  order  all  her  course. 
As  most  to  show  the  glory  of  that  Source 

By  whom  alone  her  strength,  her  life,  are  given. 

I  ask  not,  take  away  this  weight  of  care ; 
No,  for  that  love  I  pray,  that  all  can  bear ; 


l6  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

And  for  the  faith  that  whatsoe'er  befall 
Must  needs  be  good,  and  for  my  profit  prove, 
Since  from  my  Father's  heart,  most  rich  in  love, 

And  from  his  bounteous  hands  it  cometh  all. 

I  ask  not  that  my  course  be  calm  and  still ; 
No,  here  too.  Lord,  be  done  thy  holy  will ; 

I  ask  but  for  a  quiet  child-like  heart ; 
Though  thronging  cares  and  restless  toil  be  mine, 
Yet  may  my  heart  remain  for  ever  thine ; 

Draw  it  from  earth  and  fix  it  where  thou  art. 

I  ask  thee  not  to  finish  soon  the  strife, 
The  toil,  the  trouble  of  this  earthly  life ; 

No,  be  my  peace  amid  its  grief  and  pain ; 
I  pray  not,  grant  me  now  thy  realm  on  high ; 
No,  ere  I  die  let  me  to  evil  die. 

And  through  thy  Cross  my  sins  be  wholly  slain. 

True  morning  sun  of  all  my  life,  I  pray 
That  not  in  vain  thou  shine  on  me  to-day : 

Be  thou  my  light  when  all  around  is  gloom ; 
Thy  brightness,  hope,  and  courage  on  me  shed, 
That  I  may  joy  to  see,  when  life  is  fled. 

The  setting  sun  that  brings  the  pilgrim  home. 

1833.  Spitta. 


THOU   BOUNTEOUS    GIVER   OF   THE   LIGHT. 
(JLucis  Largitor  splendide.) 

^  I  ^HOU  bounteous  giver  of  the  light, 
-*-       All-glorious,  in  whose  light  serene, 
Now  that  the  night  has  passed  away. 
The  day  pours  back  her  sunny  sheen. 


MATIN  SONGS.  1 7 

Thou  art  the  world's  true  morning  star ! 

Not  that  which  on  the  edge  of  night, 
Faint  herald  of  a  little  orb, 

Shines  with  a  dim  and  narrow  light ; 

Far  brighter  than  our  earthly  sun, 
Thyself  at  once  the  Light  and  Day ! 

The  inmost  chambers  of  the  heart 
Illumining  with  heavenly  ray. 

Be  every  evil  lust  repelled 

By  guard  of  inward  purity, 
That  the  pure  body  evermore 

The  Spirit's  holy  shrine  may  be. 

These  are  our  votive  offerings  ; 

This  hope  inspires  us  as  we  pray, 
That  this,  our  holy  matin  light. 

May  guide  us  through  the  busy  day. 

St.  Hilary  of  Arlh& 


WHEN   I   RISE   AGAIN   TO   LIFE. 

{Frojn  the  Germa7i?) 

TT  T'HEN  I  rise  again  to  life, 

^  '        From  the  tranquil  sleep  of  death, 
And,  released  from  earthly  strife. 

Breathe  that  morning's  balmy  breath, 
I  shall  wake  to  other  thought : 
The  race  is  run,  the  fight  is  fought ; 
All  the  pilgrim's  cares  are  dreams. 
When  that  dawn  of  morning  gleams  I 


rtH— 0- 


-0 — H^ 


SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Help,  that  no  departed  day, 

God  of  endless  life  and  joy, 
To  the  righteous  Judge  may  say, 
'Twas  profaned  by  my  employ : 
To  another  morn  I  wake, 
And  to  thee  my  offering  make ; 
O  may  all  my  days  that  flee, 
Joys  and  sorrows,  lead  to  thee ! 

Friedrich  Gottlieb  Klopstock. 


3>9<c 


VESPER      SONGS. 


ABIDE   WITH    ME. 

A  BIDE  with  me  !  fast  falls  the  even-tide  ; 
-^^^    The  darkness  deepens  ;  Lord,  with  me  abide  ! 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh  abide  with  me ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim  ;  its  glories  pass  away; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see ; 
O  Thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me ! 

Not  a  brief  glance  I  beg,  a  passing  word ; 
But,  as  thou  dwell'st  with  thy  disciples.  Lord, 
Familiar,  condescending,  patient,  free, 
Come,  not  to  sojourn,  but  abide,  with  me ! 


fiH—^ 


VESPER   SONGS.  1 9 

Come  not  in  terrors,  as  the  King  of  kings  ; 
But  kind  and  good,  with  heaUng  in  thy  wings ; 
Tears  for  all  woes,  a  heart  for  every  plea ; 
Come,  Friend  of  sinners,  and  thus  'bide  with  me ! 

Thou  on  my  head  in  early  youth  didst  smile ; 
And,  though  rebellious  and  perverse  meanwhile, 
Thou  hast  not  left  me,  oft  as  I  left  thee. 
On  to  the  close,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me  I 

I  need  thy  presence  every  passing  hour : 
What  but  thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  power! 
Who  like  thyself  my  guide  and  stay  can  be  ? 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  oh  abide  with  me ! 

I  fear  no  foe,  with  thee  at  hand  to  bless ; 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness : 
Where  is  death's  sting  ?  where,  Grave,  thy  victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  thou  abide  with  me ! 

Hold  then  thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes ! 
Shine  through  the  gloom,  and  point  me  to  the  skies  ! 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  shad- 
ows flee  I 
In  life  and  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me  ! 

1847.  Henry  FRANas  Lytk. 

I    COME,    DEAR   LORD,    LIKE   A    TIRED    CHILD. 

T  CO]\IE,  dear  Lord,  like  a  tired  child  to  creep 
-^     L^nto  thy  feet,  and  there  awhile  to  sleep. 
Weary,  though  not  with  a  long  busy  day, 
But  with  the  morning's  sunshine  and  with  play, 
And  with  some  tears  that  fell,  although  the  while 
They  scarce  were  deep  enough  to  drown  a  smile. 


-0-H4^ 


20  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

There  is  no  need  of  words  of  mine  to  tell 
My  heart  to  thee ;  thou  needest  not  to  spell, 
As  others  must,  my  hidden  thoughts  and  fears, 
From  out  my  broken  words,  my  sobs,  or  tears ; 
Thou  knowest  all,  knowest  far  more  than  I, 
The  inner  meaning  of  each  tear  or  sigh. 

Thou  mayest  smile,  perchance,  as  mothers  smile 
On  sobbing  children,  seeing,  all  the  while. 
How  soon  will  pass  away  the  endless  grief. 
How  soon  will  come  the  gladness  and  relief; 
But  if  thou  smilest,  yet  thy  sympathy 
Measures  my  grief  by  what  it  is  to  me. 

And  not  the  less  thy  love  doth  understand. 
And  not  the  less,  with  tender,  pitying  hand, 
Thou  wipest  all  my  tears,  and  the  sad  face 
Doth  cherish  to  a  smile  in  thy  embrace. 
Until  the  pain  is  gone,  and  thou  dost  say, 
"  Go  now,  my  child,  and  work  for  me  to-day." 


I   COME  TO   THEE   TO-NIGHT. 

COME  to  thee  to-night. 
In  my  lone  closet,  where  no  eye  can  see, 
And  dare  to  crave  communion  high  with  thee. 
Father  of  love  and  light ! 


I 


Softly  the  moonbeams  shine 
On  the  still  branches  of  the  shadowy  trees. 
While  all  sweet  sounds  of  evening  on  the  breeze 

Steal  through  the  slumbering  vine. 


0— IS 

VESPER    SONGS,  21 


Thou  gavest  the  calm  repose 
That  rests  on  all,  —  the  air,  the  birds,  the  flowers, 
The  human  spirit  in  its  weary  hours. 

Now,  at  the  bright  day's  close. 

'Tis  nature's  time  for  prayer ; 
The  silent  praises  of  the  glorious  sky, 
And  the  earth's  orisons  profound  and  high, 

To  Heaven  their  breathings  bear. 

With  them  my  soul  would  bend 
In  humble  reverence  at  thy  holy  throne, 
Trusting  the  merits  of  thy  Son  alone 

Thy  sceptre  to  extend. 

If  I  this  day  have  striven 
With  thy  blest  Spirit,  or  have  bowed  the  knee 
To  aught  of  earth  in  weak  idolatry, 

I  pray  to  be  forgiven. 

If  I  have  turned  away 
From  grief  or  suffering  which  I  might  relieve. 
Careless  the  cup  of  water  e'en  to  give. 

Forgive  me.  Lord,  I  pray. 

And  teach  me  how  to  feel 
My  sinful  wanderings  with  a  deeper  smart ; 
And  more  of  mercy  and  of  grace  impart, 

My  sinfulness  to  heal. 

Not  for  myself  alone 
Would  I  these  blessings  of  thy  love  implore ; 
But  for  each  penitent  the  wide  world  o'er, 

Whom  thou  hast  called  thine  own. 


Hffp-fr- 


^ 


-O^-Uh 


22  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

And  now,  O  Father,  take 
The  heart  I  cast  with  humble  faith  on  thee, 
And  cleanse  its  depths  from  each  impurit}^, 

For  my  Redeemer's  sake ! 


EVENING   HYMN. 

"^  I  ^HE  shadows  of  the  evening  hours 
-*-       Fall  from  the  darkening  sky ; 
Upon  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers 

The  dews  of  evening  lie  : 
Before  thy  throne,  O  Lord  of  Heaven, 

We  kneel  at  close  of  day ; 
Look  on  thy  children  from  on  high, 

And  hear  us  while  we  pray. 

• 
The  sorrows  of  thy  servants.  Lord, 

Oh  do  not  thou  despise ; 
But  let  the  incense  of  our  prayers 

Before  thy  mercy  rise : 
The  brightness  of  the  coming  night 

Upon  the  darkness  rolls  ; 
With  hopes  of  future  glory  chase 

The  shadows  on  our  souls. 

Slowly  the  rays  of  daylight  fade ; 

So  fade  within  our  heart 
The  hopes  in  earthly  love  and  joy, 

That  one  by  one  depart : 


^H — p — ^^-py 


VESPER  SONGS.  23 

Slowly  the  bright  stars,  one  by  one, 

Within  the  heavens  shine ; 
Give  us,  O  Lord,  fresh  hopes  in  heaven, 

And  trust  in  things  divine  ! 

Let  peace,  O  Lord,  —  thy  peace,  O  God,  — 

Upon  our  souls  descend  ; 
From  midnight  fears  and  perils  thou 

Our  trembling  hearts  defend ; 
Give  us  a  respite  from  our  toil ; 

Calm  and  subdue  our  woes  ; 
Through  the  long  day  we  suffer.  Lord, 

Oh  give  us  now  repose ! 

Adelaide  Anne  Proctor. 


CRADLE   SONG. 

O  WEET  baby,  sleep !  what  ails  my  dear, 
^^     What  ails  my  darling  thus  to  cry  ? 
Be  still,  my  child ;  and  lend  thine  ear. 

To  hear  me  sing  thy  lullaby. 
My  pretty  lamb,  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  dear ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  blessed  soul,  what  canst  thou  fear  ? 

What  thing  to  thee  can  mischief  do  ? 
Thy  God  is  now  thy  Father  dear ; 

His  holy  spouse,  thy  mother  too. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 


24  •  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

While  thus  thy  lullaby  I  sing, 

For  thee  great  blessings  ripening  be ; 

Thine  eldest  brother  is  a  king, 

And  hath  a  kingdom  bought  for  thee. 

Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Sweet  baby,  sleep,  and  nothing  fear ; 

For  whosoever  thee  offends 
By  thy  Protector  threatened  are. 

And  God  and  angels  are  thy  friends. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep  ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

When  God  with  us  was  dwelling  here, 
In  little  babes  he  took  delight ; 

Such  innocents  as  thou,  my  dear, 
Are  ever  precious  in  his  sight. 

Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

A  little  infant  once  was  he ; 

And  strength  in  weakness  then  was  laid 
Upon  his  virgin  mother's  knee, 

That  power  to  thee  might  be  conveyed. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

In  this  thy  frailty  and  thy  need 

He  friends  and  helpers  doth  prepare, 

Which  thee  shall  cherish,  clothe,  and  feed, 
For  of  thy  weal  they  tender  are. 

Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 


— 0— W: 

VESPER  SONGS.  2^ 

The  King  of  kings,  when  he  was  born, 

Had  not  so  much  for  outward  ease ; 
By  him  such  dressings  were  not  worn, 

Nor  such-Hke  swaddUng-clothes  as  these. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Within  a  manger  lodged  thy  Lord, 

Where  oxen  lay,  and  asses  fed : 
Warm  rooms  we  do  to  thee  afford, 

An  easy  cradle  or  a  bed. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

The  wants  that  he  did  then  sustain 

Have  purchased  wealth,  my  babe,  for  thee ; 

And  by  his  torments  and  his  pain 
Thy  rest  and  ease  secured  be. 

My  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep ; 

Be  still,  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Thou  hast  yet  more,  to  perfect  this, 

A  promise  and  an  earnest  got 
Of  gaining  everlasting  bliss. 

Though  thou,  my  babe,  perceiv'st  it  not ; 
Sleep,  baby,  then  ;  forbear  to  weep ; 
Be  stillj  my  babe ;  sweet  baby,  sleep  ! 

1641.  George  Wither. 


0— t* 

26  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

CRADLE   SONG   OF   THE  HOLY   BABE. 

OLEEP!  Holy  Babe, 

^^     Upon  thy  mother's  breast ; 
Great  Lord  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky, 
How  sweet  it  is  to  see  thee  He 
In  such  a  place  of  rest ! 

Sleep !  Holy  Babe, 

Thine  angels  watch  around, 
All  bending-  low  with  folded  wings, 
Before  the  Incarnate  King  of  kings, 

In  reverent  awe  profound. 

Sleep !  Holy  Babe, 

While  I  with  Mary  gaze 
In  joy  upon  that  face  awhile. 
Upon  the  loving  infant-smile. 

Which  there  divinely  plays. 

Sleep !  Holy  Babe, 

Ah,  take  thy  brief  repose ; 
Too  quickly  will  thy  slumbers  break. 
And  thou  to  lengthened  pains  awake, 

That  death  alone  shall  close. 

Then  must  those  hands 

Which  now  so  fair  I  see. 
Those  little  pearly  feet  of  thine. 
So  soft,  so  delicately  fine. 

Be  pierced  and  rent  for  me. 


VESPER  SONGS.  27 

Then  must  that  brow 

Its  thorny  crown  receive ; 
That  cheek,  more  lovely  than  the  rose, 
Be  drenched  with  blood,  and  marred  with  blows. 

That  I  thereby  may  live. 

Edward  Caswell. 


CHILD'S  EVENING  PRAYER. 

■JPATHER  of  all !  my  Father  too  ! 
-*-        Oh  make  me  good  and  just  and  true, 
Make  me  delight  to  learn  thy  word. 
And  love  to  pray  and  praise  the  Lord. 

Oh  may  thy  gracious  presence  bless 
And  guard  my  childhood's  helplessness  ; 
Be  with  me  as  I  grow  in  years, 
And  guide  me  through  this  vale  of  tears. 

1833.  Samuel  Henry  Dickson. 


CHILD'S   VESPER   HYMN. 

('A^ere  to,  natdla  epxeodai  itpoc  fJis — ) 

'THHOU  that  once  on  mother's  knee 
■^       Wert  a  little  one  like  me, 
When  I  wake,  or  go  to  bed, 
Lay  thy  hands  about  my  head ; 
Let  me  feel  thee  very  near, 
Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour  dear. 


28  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Be  beside  me  in  the  light, 
Close  by  me  through  all  the  night ; 
Make  me  gentle,  kind,  and  true, 
Do  what  mother  bids  me  do ; 
Help  and  cheer  me  when  I  fret. 
And  forgive  when  I  forget. 

Once  wert  thou  in  cradle  laid, 
Baby  bright  in  manger  shade, 
With  the  oxen  and  the  cows, 
And  the  lambs  outside  the  house : 
Now  thou  art  above  the  sky ; 
Canst  thou  hear  a  baby  cry  ? 

Thou  art  nearer  when  we  pray. 
Since  thou  art  so  far  away ; 
Thou  my  little  hymn  wilt  hear, 
Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour  dear,   * 
Thou  that  once  on  mother's  knee 
Wert  a  little  one  like  me. 

1868.  FRANas  Turner  Palgravb. 


EVENING   HYMN. 

■ppATHER !  by  thy  love  and  power 
-^        Comes  again  the  evening  hour. 
Light  has  vanished,  labors  cease, 
Weary  creatures  rest  in  peace. 
Thou,  whose  genial  dews  distil 


_ — _ 0— ffl 

VESPER  SONGS.  29 

On  the  lowliest  weed  that  grows, 
Father !  guard  our  couch  from  ill, 

Lull  thy  children  to  repose. 
We  to  thee  ourselves  resign, 
Let  our  latest  thoughts  be  thine. 

Saviour !  to  thy  Father  bear 
This  our  feeble  evening  prayer ; 
Thou  hast  seen  how  oft  to-day 
We,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray : 
Worldly  thoughts,  and  thoughts  of  pride, 

Wishes  to  thy  cross  untrue, 
Secret  faults,  and  undescried. 

Meet  thy  spirit-piercing  view. 
Blessed  Saviour !  yet  through  thee 
Pray  that  these  may  pardoned  be. 

Holy. Spirit!  breath  of  balm! 
Fall  on  us  in  evening's  calm : 
Yet  awhile  before  we  sleep. 
We,  with  thee,  will  vigils  keep ; 
Lead  us  on  our  sins  to  muse. 

Give  us  truest  penitence. 
Then  the  love  of  God  infuse. 

Breathing  humble  confidence ; 
Melt  our  spirits,  mould  our  will. 
Soften,  strengthen,  comfort  still ! 

Blessed  Trinity !  be  near 

Through  the  hours  of  darkness  drear : 

When  the  help  of  man  is  far. 

Ye  more  clearly  present  are. 


— o—m. 

30  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

Watch  o'er  our  defenceless  head, 
Let  your  angels'  guardian  host 

Keep  all  evil  from  our  bed. 
Till  the  flood  of  morning  rays 
Wake  us  to  a  song  of  praise. 


THE   MOON   HATH   RISEN   ON   HIGH. 
{Der  Mond  ist  aufgegangen.') 


T 


'HE  moon  hath  risen  on  high, 
And  in  the  clear  dark  sky 
The  golden  stars  all  brightly  glow ; 
And  black  and  hushed  the  woods. 
While  o'er  the  fields  and  floods 
The  white  mists  hover  to  and  fro. 

How  still  the  earth  !  how  calm  ! 

What  dear  and  home-like  charm 
From  gentle  twilight  doth  she  borrow ! 

Like  to  some  quiet  room, 

Where  rapt  in  still,  soft  gloom. 
We  sleep  away  the  daylight's  sorrow. 

Look  up  !  the  moon  to-night 
Shows  us  but  half  her  light. 

And  yet  we  know  her  round  and  fair. 
At  other  things  how  oft 
We,  in  our  blindness,  scoffed. 

Because  we  saw  not  what  was  there ! 


0— 4ft 

VESPER  SONGS.  II 

We  haughty  sons  of  men 

Have  but  a  narrow  ken, 
We  are  but  sinners  poor  and  weak ; 

Yet  airy  dreams  we  build, 

And  deem  us  wise  and  skilled, 
And  come  not  nearer  what  we  seek. 

Thy  mercy  let  us  see, 

Nor  find  in  vanity 
Our  joy ;  nor  trust  in  what  departs  ; 

But  true  and  simple  grow, 

And  live  to  thee  below, 
With  sunny,  pure,  and  childlike  hearts. 

Let  death  all  gently  come 

At  last  to  take  us  home. 
And  let  us  meet  him  fearlessly ; 

And  when  these  bonds  are  riven, 

Oh  take  us  to  thy  Heaven, 
Our  Lord  and  God,  to  dwell  with  thee ! 

Now  in  his  name  most  blest, 

My  brothers,  sink  to  rest ; 
The  wind  is  cold,  chill  falls  the  dew ! 

Spare  us,  O  God,  and  keep 

Not  only  us  in  sleep. 
But  all  thy  weary  sufferers  too. 

1782.  Claudius. 


32  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 


EVENING. 

'^  I  ^IS  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze, 
-*-       Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze  ; 
Yon  mantling  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 

Sun  of  my  soul !  thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  thou  be  near ! 
Oh  may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise. 
To  hide  thee  from  thy  servant's  eyes ! 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever#on  my  Saviour's  breast ! 

Abide  wdth  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  thee  I  cannot  live ; 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  thee  I  dare  not  die. 

Thou  Framer  of  the  light  and  dark. 
Steer  through  the  tempest  thine  own  ark ; 
Amid  the  howling  wintry  sea. 
We  are  in  port  if  we  have  thee. 

Oh  by  thine  own  sad  burden  borne 
So  meekly  up  the  hill  of  scorn. 
Teach  thou  thy  priests  their  daily  cross 
To  bear  as  thine,  nor  count  it  loss ! 


VESPER   SONGS.  33 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  thine 
Have  spurned  to-day  the  voice  di\dne, 
Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin ; 
Let  him  no  more  he  down  in  sin. 

Watch  by  the  sick ;  enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  thy  boundless  store ; 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night, 
Like  infant's  slumbers,  pure  and  light. 

Come  near,  and  bless  us  when  we  wake. 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take ; 
Till  in  the  ocean  of  thy  love 
We  lose  ourselves  in  Heaven  above. 

1827.  John  Keble. 


O   LIGHT   OF   LIFE,    O    SAVIOUR   DEAR. 

/^  LIGHT  of  life,  O  Saviour  dear, 
^^     Before  we  sleep  bow  down  thine  ear ! 
Through  dark  and  day,  o'er  land  and  sea. 
We  have  no  other  hope  but  thee. 

Oft  from  thy  royal  road  we  part, 
Lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  heart  : 
Our  lamps  put  out,  our  course  forgot, 
We  seek  for  God  and  find  him  not. 

What  sudden  sunbeams  cheer  our  sight ! 
What  dawning  risen  upon  the  night ! 
Thou  gives t  thyself  to  us,  and  we 
Find  guide,  and  path,  and  all  in  thee. 


-0 — H» 


34  SOA'GS  or   THE  SOUL. 

Through  day  and  darkness,  Saviour  dear, 
Abide  with  us  more  nearly  near ; 
Till  on  thy  face  we  lift  our  eyes, 
The  sun  of  God's  own  Paradise. 

Praise  God,  our  Maker  and  our  Friend ; 
Praise  him  through  time,  till  time  shall  end ; 
Till  psalm  and  song  his  name  adore 
Through  Heaven's  great  day  of  evermore. 

1868.  Francis  Turner  Palgrave. 


THE  EVENING   HYMN    OF   THE    GREEK  ISLES. 

{rr]v  Tj^izpav  dteldcjv.) 

^  I  ^HE  day  is  past  and  over; 
-■-       All  thanks,  O  Lord,  to  thee ! 
I  pray  thee  that  offenceless 

The  hours  of  dark  may  be. 
O  Jesu !  keep  me  in  thy  sight. 
And  save  me  through  the  coming  night  I 

The  joys  of  day  are  over; 

Oh  lift  my  heart  to  thee. 
And  call  on  thee,  that  sinless 

The  hours  of  sin  may  be. 
O  Jesu  !  make  their  darkness  light. 
And  guard  me  through  the  coming  night  I 

The  toils  of  day  are  over ; 

I  raise  the  hymn  to  thee ; 
And  ask  that  free  from  peril 

The  hours  of  fear  may  be. 
O  Jesu  !  keep  me  in  thy  sight, 
And  guard  me  through  the  coming  night ! 


. 0_^ 

VESPER  SONGS.  35 

Lighten  mine  eyes,  O  Saviour, 

Or  sleep  in  death  shall  I ; 
And  he,  my  wakeful  tempter, 

Triumphantly  shall  cry : 
"  He  could  not  make  their  darkness  light, 
Nor  guard  them  through  the  hours  of  night  I  " 

Be  thou  my  soul's  preserver, 

O  God  !  for  thou  dost  know 
How  many  are  the  perils 

Through  which  I  have  to  go ; 
Lover  of  men  !  oh  hear  my  call. 
And  guard  and  save  me  from  them  all  I 

457.  St.  Anatolius,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealk. 


ALL   PRAISE  TO   THEE,    MY  GOD,   THIS    NIGHT. 

A  LL  praise  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
^^-^     For  all  the  blessings  of  the  Hght ; 
Keep  me,  oh  keep  me.  King  of  kings, 
Beneath  thine  own  Almighty  wings  I 

Forgive  me.  Lord,  for  thy  dear  Son, 
The  ill  that  I  this  day  have  done ; 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  thee, 
I,  ere  I  sleep,  at  peace  may  be. 


Teach  me  to  live,  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed ! 
To  die,  that  this  vile  body  may 
Rise  glorious  at  the  awful  day  ! 


*t— 0 

36  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Oh  may  my  soul  on  thee  repose, 
And  may  sweet  sleep  mine  eyelids  close ; 
Sleep,  that  may  me  more  vigorous  make 
To  serve  my  God  when  I  awake ! 

When  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 
My  soul  with  heavenly  thoughts  supply ! 
Let  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest. 
No  powers  of  darkness  me  molest ! 

The  faster  sleep  the  senses  binds. 
The  more  unfettered  are  our  minds ; 
Oh  may  my  soul,  from  matter  free, 
Thy  loveliness  unclouded  see  ! 

Oh  when  shall  I,  in  endless  day, 
Forever  chase  dark  sleep  away. 
And  hymns  with  the  supernal  choir 
Incessant  sing,  and  never  tire  ? 

Oh  may  my  Guardian,  while  I  sleep. 
Close  to  my  bed  his  vigils  keep ; 
His  love  angelical  instil ; 
Stop  all  the  avenues  of  ill : 

May  he  celestial  joy  rehearse. 

And  thought  to  thought  with  me  converse ; 

Or  in  my  stead,  all  the  night  long. 

Sing  to  my  God  a  grateful  song ! 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow ! 
Praise  him,  all  creatures  here  below ! 
Praise  him  above,  ye  heavenly  host ! 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ! 

170a  Bishop  Khn. 


^H — 0- 


SONGS 


OF 


THE      FATHER,      THE      SON, 


THE    HOLY    GHOST. 


4H--^- 


SONGS    TO    THE    TRINITY. 


>>»ic 


ODE  TO   THE  TRINITY. 
{From  the  Greek. ^ 

'T^HE  tuneful  sound  of  music 
-*-       Burst  sweetly  forth  of  old, 
In  honor  of  the  idol, 

The  lifeless  form  of  gold : 
We  cry,  with  cry  adoring. 

The  Spirit's  radiant  flame, 
Sole  Trinity,  we  bless  thee. 

For  evermore  the  same  I 

They  who  the  voice  prophetic 

Knew  not  as  word  of  thine, 
The  unknown  tongues  regarded 

As  drunkenness  of  wine ; 
But  we,  in  faith,  devoutly 

Give  God  the  honor  due : 
Sole  Trinity,  we  bless  thee. 

Who  makest  all  things  new ! 

The  prophet  Joel,  looking 
Upon  the  face  of  God, 

Astonied,  heard  him  speaking, 
And  told  his  words  abroad : 


^H— ^- 


%- 

40  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

They  whom  I  give  my  Spirit 
Shall  cry  thus,  filled  with  might, 

Sole  Trinity,  we  bless  thee, 
O  everlasting  Light ! 

The  third  day-hour  abounded 

With  grace,  that  we  might  know 
The  source  of  blessing  threefold. 

Whence  benedictions  flow. 
And  now  on  this  glad  morning, 

The  best  and  chief  of  days. 
Sole  Trinity,  we  bless  thee 

In  hymns  of  grateful  praise ! 

St.  John  of  Damascene. 


O   UNITY   OF   THREEFOLD    LIGHT. 

r\  UNITY  of  threefold  light, 
^-^     Send  out  thy  loveliest  ray. 
And  scatter  our  transgression's  night, 

And  turn  it  into  day ! 
Make  thou  those  temples  pure  and  fair 

Thy  glory  loveth  well, 
The  spotless  tabernacles,  where 

Thou  mayst  vouchsafe  to  dwell ! 

The  glorious  hosts  of  peerless  night 

That  ever  see  thy  face. 
Thou  mak'st  the  mirrors  of  thy  light, 

The  vessels  of  thy  grace ; 


-0 — H\ 


i.ip.l.   « 0-4* 

SOiVGS   TO    THE   TRINITY.  4 1 

Then  when  their  wondrous  strain  they  weave, 

Hast  pleasure  in  the  lay : 
Deign  thus  our  praises  to  receive, 

Albeit  from  lips  of  clay ! 

And  yet  thyself  they  cannot  know, 

Nor  pierce  the  veil  of  light 
That  hides  thee  from  the  thrones  below, 

As  in  profoundest  night : 
How  then  can  mortal  accents  frame 

Due  tribute  to  the  King  ? 
Thou  only,  while  we  praise  thy  name, 

Forgive  us  while  we  sing ! 

9«fc  Metrophanes  of  Smyrna,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealb. 


HYMN   OF   HILDEBERT. 

An  Address  to  the  Three  Persons  of  the  Most 
Holy  Trinity. 

(a  et  G  inagne  Deus.^ 
TO    THE    FATHER. 

LEATHER,  God,  my  God  all-seeing  I 
■*-        Alpha  and  Omega  being,  — 
Thou  whose  power  no  limit  showeth. 
Thou  whose  wisdom  all  things  knoweth ; 
God,  all  good  beyond  comparing ; 
God  of  Love  for  mortals  caring ; 

Over,  under  all  abounding. 
In  and  out  and  all  surrounding ; 


42  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Inside  all,  yet  not  included, 
Outside  all,  yet  not  excluded, 
Over  all,  yet  not  elated, 
Under  all,  yet  not  abated  ; 

Thou  above,  thy  power  ordaining ; 
Thou  beneath,  thy  strength  sustaining ; 
Thou  without,  the  whole  embracing ; 
Thou  within,  thy  fulness  gracing. 

Thee  within,  no  power  constraineth, 
Thou  without,  no  freedom  gaineth ; 
Over  all,  thee  none  sustaineth. 
Under  all,  no  burden  paineth. 

Moving  all,  no  change  thou  knowest ; 
Holding  fast,  thou  freely  goest. 
Changing  time,  thou  art  unchanging, 
Thou  the  fickle  all  arranging. 
Force  and  fate,  whichever  showing, 
Are  but  footsteps  of  thy  going, 
Past  and  future  to  us,  ever 
Are  to  thee,  but  now  forever. 
Thy  to-day  wi^j^  thee  abiding 
Endless  is,  no  change  dividing ; 
Thou,  in  it,  at  once  foreseeing 
All  things,  by  thee  perfect  being, 
Like  the  plan  thy  mind  completed, 
When  creation  first  was  meted. 

TO    THE    SON. 

Son,  the  Father's  equal  ever. 
From  his  substance  changing  never, 
Like  in  brightness  and  in  feature ; 
Though  Creator,  still  a  creature. 


r*4— * 0— -fffn 

SONGS   TO    THE    TRINITY.  43 

Thou  our  human  body  worest, 
Our  redemption  too  thou  borest. 

Endless,  still  thy  time  declaring, 
Deathless,  though  thy  death  preparing, 
Man  and  God,  divided  never. 
Thou  Man-God  unmixed  forever ; 
God  is  not  to  flesh  converted. 
Nor  by  flesh  the  God  perverted ; 
God  in  human  form  appearing. 
Never  human  weakness  fearing ; 
With  the  Father  equal  being, 
Fleshly  weakness  disagreeing, 
God  the  God  begetting  solely. 
Virgin  both  conceiving  wholly. 

In  this  union,  thus  created. 
Both  the  natures  there  are  mated, 
Each,  its  own  existence  taking, 
Both,  a  new  existence  making. 

He  alone  our  Interceder, 
Our  Lawgiver,  and  our  Leader, 
He  the  law  and  gospel  heeded. 
To  the  cross  and  grave  proceeded, 
There  he  slept,  and  there  descended. 
There  he  rose,  and  there  ascended. 
Judged  on  earth,  in  heaven  he  liveth, 
And  the  world  its  judgment  giveth. 

TO   THE    HOLY   SPIRIT. 

Comforter  denominated. 
Never  born,  and  not  created, 
Both  the  Son  and  Father  knowing. 
Spirit  from  them  both  outgoing, 


-0 — Hh 


44  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Thus  in  power  their  equal  being, 
And  in  quaUty  agreeing, 
Great  as  they,  he  still  remaineth, 
All  their  goodness  he  retaineth. 
With  them  from  the  first  existing, 
All  their  power  in  him  subsisting. 

Father,  he  begetting  showeth. 
Son,  from  human  birth  he  groweth, 
Spirit,  from  them  both  outflowing, 
They  are  one  the  Godhead  showing. 
Each  is  God  in  fulness  ever. 
All  are  God,  and  three  Gods  never. 
In  this  God  true  God  completing. 
Three  in  one  are  ever  meeting. 
Unity  in  substance  showing. 
Trinity  in  persons  knowing. 

Of  the  persons  none  is  greater, 
Neither  less  and  neither  later, 
Each  one  still  itself  retaining, 
Fixed  and  constant  still  remaining, 
In  itself  no  variation, 
Neither  change  nor  transmutation. 


This  is  true  faith  for  our  keeping. 
Error  bringeth  sin  and  weeping,  — 
As  I  teach  it,  I  believe  it. 
Nor  for  other  will  I  leave  it. 
Trusting,  Lord,  thy  goodness  ever, 
Though  I  sin  I  hope  forever. 
Worthy  death,  but  not  despairing. 
By  my  death,  my  life  preparing. 


__ ^ 

SOiVGS   TO    THE    TRINITY.  45 

When  I  please  thee,  nothing  showing, 
But  the  faith  on  thee  bestowing. 
Hear  my  prayer,  my  faith  perceiving, 
From  my  burden  me  reheving ; 
Here,  my  sickness  now  reveaUng, 
Let  thy  medicine  be  my  heaUng. 

Now  without  the  city  taken. 
Dead,  offensive,  and  forsaken, 
Grave-clothes  bind,  the  stone  confineth  — 
At  thy  word  the  grave  resigneth  — 
Speak !  the  stone  away  is  rolling  — 
Speak  !  the  shroud  no  more  controlling  — 
When  "  come  forth  !  "  thy  summons  sayelh, 
Then  at  once  the  dead  obeyeth. 

On  this  sea  of  troubles  resting. 
Pirates  are  my  bark  infesting ; 
Strifes,  temptations,  billows  sweeping, 
Everywhere  are  death  and  weeping ; 
Come,  good  Pilot,  calm  proclaiming, 
Hush  the  winds,  the  billows  taming, 
Drive  these  pirates  to  their  hiding, 
Safe  to  port  my  vessel  guiding. 

My  unfruitful  fig-tree  growing. 
Dry  and  withered  branches  showing, 
Shouldst  thou  judge,  the  truth  discerning, 
Thou  wouldst  give  it  to  the  burning ; 
But  another  season  bless  it. 
Dig  about  it,  Lord,  and  dress  it, 
If  it  then  no  fruit  returneth, 
I  will  praise  thee  while  it  burneth. 

Me,  the  evil  one  possessing. 
Flames  and  floods  by  turns  oppressing, 


46  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Feeble,  sick,  and  helpless  lying, 
To  thy  grace  my  soul  is  flying. 
That  my  weakness  all  may  vanish. 
Thou  the  evil  spirit  banish. 
Teach  me,  Lord,  my  weakness  staying, 
Grace  of  fasting  and  of  praying. 
This  alone,  the  Saviour  telleth. 
Such  a  demon  e'er  expelleth. 
Thou  my  sickened  sense  restoring. 
Faith  and  penitence  imploring. 
Give  me  fear  which,  once  ejected. 
Leaves  salvation  all  perfected. 
Faith,  and  hope,  and  love  conferring, 
Give  me  piety  unerring. 
Earthly  joys  forever  spurning. 
Heavenward  still  my  footsteps  turning. 


God,  in  thee,  all  things  desiring, 
From  thee,  every  thing  requiring  — 
Thou  my  praise,  my  good,  abiding, 
All  I  have,  thy  gift  providing  — 
In  fatigue,  thy  solace  fueling. 
In  my  sickness,  thou  my  healing. 
Thou,  my  harp,  my  grief  assuaging. 
Thou,  who  soothest,all  my  raging. 
Thou,  who  freest  my  enthralling. 
Thou,  who  raisest  me  when  falling, 
'Tis  thy  grace  my  footsteps  guideth, 
Strengthening  hope  when  it  subsideth. 
None  would  hurt,  but  thou  forefendest, 
Who  may  threaten,  thou  defendest. 


SONGS   TO    THE    TRINITY.  4/ 

What  is  doubtful,  thou  revealest, 
What  is  mystery,  thou  concealest. 

Never,  Lord,  with  thy  permission 
Let  me  enter  in  perdition. 
Where  is  fear,  and  where  is  waihng. 
Shame  and  weeping  unavaiUng, 
Every  loathsome  thing  displaying 
In  confusion,  disarraying, 
Where  the  fierce  tormenter  lieth, 
And  the  worm  that  never  dieth. 
Where  this  endless  woe  infernal, 
Maketh  death  and  hell  eternal. 


Let  me  be  in  Sion  saved ! 
Sion,  peaceful  home  of  David, 
Built  by  him,  the  light  who  maketh, 
And  the  cross  for  portals  taketh ; 
And  for  keys  the  welcome  given 
By  the  jo}^ul  saints  in  heaven ; 
Walls  of  living  stone  erected. 
By  the  Prince  of  Joy  protected ; 
Where  the  light  that  God  is  sending, 
Endless  spring  and  peace  are  blending. 
Perfume  every  breeze  is  bearing, 
Festive  strains  the  joy  declaring. 
No  corruption  there  appeareth. 
None  defect  or  sorrow  feareth, 
None  deformed  or  dwarfed  remaining, 
All  the  form  of  Christ  retaining. 

Heavenly  city  !  happy  dwelling ! 
Built  upon  that  stone  excelling. 


-0 — w\ 


48  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

City  safe  in  heavenly  keeping, 
Hail !  in  distant  glory  sleeping  I 
Thee  I  hail,  for  thee  am  sighing ; 
Thee  I  love,  for  thee  am  dying ! 

How  thy  heavenly  hosts  are  singing, 
And  their  festive  voices  ringing ! 
What  the  love  their  souls  conforming ! 
What  the  gems  the  walls  adorning ! 
Chalcedon  and  jacinth  shining. 
Know  they  all  those  walls  confining. 

In  that  city's  glorious  meeting 
Moses  and  EUas  greeting  — 
Holy  prophets  gone  before  us  — 
Let  me  sing  the  heavenly  chorus ! 

iioo.  Trans,  by  E.  C.  Benedict. 


3>«<00- 


SONGS    TO    THE    FATHER. 


THE   GOD    OF  ABRAHAM    PRAISE. 

^"P*HE  God  of  Abrah'm  praise, 

-*■       Who  reigns  enthroned  above ; 
Ancient  of  everlasting  days. 

And  God  of  Love ; 
Jehovah,  Great  I  AM, 

By  earth  and  heaven  confess'd ; 
I  bow  and  bless  the  sacred  Name  — 

Forever  bless'd. 


— 0—1* 

SOJVGS   TO    THE  FATHER,  49 

The  God  of  Abrah'm  praise, 

At  whose  supreme  command 
From  earth  I  rise,  and  seek  the  joys 

At  his  right  hand : 
I  all  on  earth  forsake,  — 

Its  wisdom,  fame,  and  power ; 
And  him  my  only  portion  make, 

My  shield  and  tower. 

He  by  himself  hath  sworn, 

I  on  his  oath  depend ; 
I  shall,  on  angel-wings  upborne, 

To  heaven  ascend : 
I  shall  behold  his  face, 

I  shall  his  power  adore. 
And  sing  the  wonders  of  his  grace 

For  evermore. 

The  God  who  reigns  on  high 

The  great  archangels  sing ; 
And  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,"  cry, 

"  Almighty  King ! 
Who  was,  and  is  the  same, 

And  evermore  shall  be  ; 
Jehovah,  Father,  Great  I  AM, 

We  worship  thee  !  " 

The  whole  triumphant  host 

Give  thanks  to  God  on  high ; 
"  Hail,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost !  " 

They  ever  cry : 


50  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Hail,  Abraham's  God  and  mine ! 

I  join  the  heavenly  lays  ; 
All  might  and  majesty  are  thine, 

And  endless  praise. 


Thomas  Olivers. 


CREATION'S    SONG   OF    PRAISE. 

^  I  ^HOU  wast,  O  God,  and  thou  wast  blest, 
-*-       Before  the  world  begun  ; 
Of  thine  eternity  possest, 

Before  Time's  glass  did  run. 
Thou  needest  none  thy  praise  to  sing, 

As  if  thy  joy  could  fade ; 
Couldst  thou  have  needed  any  thing, 

Thou  couldst  have  nothing  made. 

Great  and  good  God,  it  pleased  thee 

Thy  Godhead  to  declare ; 
And  what  thy  goodness  did  decree. 

Thy  greatness  did  prepare ; 
Thou  spak'st,  and  heaven  and  earth  appeared 

And  answered  to  thy  call ; 
As  if  their  Maker's  voice  they  heard, 

Which  is  the  creature's  all. 

Thou  spak'st  the  word,  O  mighty  Lord, 
Thy  word  went  forth  with  speed : 

Thy  will,  O  Lord,  it  was  thy  word ; 
Thy  word,  it  was  thy  deed. 


— ^ — \^ 

SONGS   TO    THE  FATHER.  5 1 

Thou  brought'st  forth  Adam  from  the  ground, 

And  Eve  out  of  his  side : 
Thy  blessing  made  the  earth  abound 

With  these  two  multipHed. 

Those  three  great  leaves,  heaven,  sea,  and  land, 

Thy  name  in  figures  show ; 
Brutes  feel  the  bounty  of  thy  hand, 

But  I  my  Maker  know. 
Should  I  not  here  thy  servant  be, 

Whose  creatures  serve  me  here  ? 
My  Lord,  whom  should  I  fear  but  thee, 

Who  am  thy  creatures'  fear  ? 

To  whom.  Lord,  should  I  sing  but  thee, 

The  Maker  of  my  tongue  ? 
Lo  I  other  lords  would  seize  on  me. 

But  I  to  thee  belong. 
As  waters  haste  unto  their  sea, 

And  earth  unto  its  earth. 
So  let  my  soul  return  to  thee. 

From  whom  it  had  its  birth. 

But  ah !  I'm  fallen  in  the  night, 

And  cannot  come  to  thee ! 
Yet  speak  the  word,  "  Let  there  be  light^'^ 

It  shall  enlighten  me. 
And  let  thy  word,  most  mighty  Lord, 

Thy  fallen  creatures  raise ; 
And  make  me  o'er  again,  and  I 

Shall  sing  my  Maker's  praisCo 

1683.  John  Mason. 


52  SOJVCS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


THE    ALLELUIATIC    SEQUENCE    OF 
GODESCALCUS. 

{Canicmus  cuncti.) 

THE  Strain  upraise  of  joy  and  praise, 
Alleluia! 
To  the  glory  of  their  King 
Shall  the  ransomed  people  sing, 

Alleluia ! 
And  the  choirs  that  dwell  on  high 
Shall  re-echo  through  the  sky. 

Alleluia ! 
They  through  the  fields  of  Paradise  who  roam. 
The  blessed  ones,  repeat  through  that  bright  home. 

Alleluia ! 
The  planets  glittering  on  their  heavenly  way, 
The  shining  constellations,  join  and  say. 

Alleluia ! 
Ye  clouds  that  onward  sweep, 
Ye  winds  on  pinions  light. 
Ye  thunders  echoing  loud  and  deep, 
Ye  lightnings  wild  and  bright. 
In  sweet  consent  unite  your  Alleluia ! 
Ye  floods  and  ocean  billows, 
Ye  storms  and  winter  snow, 
Ye  days  of  cloudless  beauty, 
Hoar  frost  and  summer  glow ; 
Ye  groves  that  wave  in  spring. 
And  glorious  forests,  sing. 

Alleluia  I 


l^j4— 0- 


SO.VGS   TO    THE  FATHER.  53 

First  let  the  birds,  with  painted  plumage  gay, 
Exalt  their  great  Creator's  praise,  and  say. 

Alleluia ! 
Then  let  the  beasts  of  earth,  with  varying  strain, 
Join  in  creation's  hymn,  and  cry  again, 

Alleluia ! 
Here  let  the  mountains  thunder  forth  sonorous, 

Alleluia ! 
There  let  the  valleys  sing  in  gentler  chorus, 

Alleluia ! 
Thou  jubilant  abyss  of  ocean,  cry 

Alleluia ! 
Ye  tracts  of  earth  and  continents,  reply 

Alleluia ! 
To  God  who  all  creation  made. 
The  frequent  hymn  be  duly  paid  : 

Alleluia ! 
This  is  the  strain,  the  eternal  strain,  the  Lord  Almighty 

loves,  —  Alleluia ! 

This  is  the  song,  the  heavenly  song,  that  Christ  him- 
self approves,  —  Alleluia ! 
Wherefore  we  sing,  both  heart  and  voice  awaking, 

Alleluia ! 
And  children's  voices  answer,  echo  making. 

Alleluia  I 
Now  from  all  men  be  outpoured 
Alleluia  to  the  Lord  ; 
With  Alleluia  evermore. 
The  Son  and  Spirit  we  adore. 
Praise  be  done  to  the  Three  in  One, 
Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Alleluia! 
Amen  ! 

loth  century.  Trans,  by  J.  M.  Nbale. 


^ 

54  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


SONGS    TO    THE    SON. 


THE   EARLIEST   CHRISTIAN   HYMN. 

OHEPHERD  of  tender  youth, 
^^        Guiding  in  love  and  truth 

Through  devious  ways ; 
Christ  our  triumphant  King, 
We  come  thy  name  to  sing, 
And  here  our  children  bring 

To  shout  thy  praise  ! 

Thou  art  our  holy  Lord, 
The  all-subduing  Word, 

Healer  of  strife. 
l^hou  didst  thyself  abase, 
That  from  sin's  deep  disgrace 
Thou  mightest  save  our  race,  , 

And  give  us  life. 

Thou  art  the  great  High  Priest ; 
Thou  hast  prepared  the  feast 

Of  heavenly  love. 
While  in  our  mortal  pain. 
None  calls  on  thee  in  vain ; 
Help  thou  dost  not  disdain, 

Help  from  above. 


0— W: 

sojVGs  to  the  son.  55 

Ever  be  thou  our  Guide, 
Our  Shepherd  and  our  Pride, 

Our  Staff  and  Song ! 
Jesus,  thou  Christ  of  God, 
By  thy  perennial  word. 
Lead  us  where  thou  hast  trod. 

Make  our  faith  strong. 

So  now,  and  till  we  die, 
Sound  we  thy  praises  high, 

And  joyful  sing! 
Let  all  the  holy  throng. 
Who  to  thy  church  belong. 
Unite,  and  swell  the  song. 

To  Christ  the  King  ! 

Clement  of  Alexandria. 


MY   SAVIOUR,   WHOM   ABSENT   I    LOVE. 

IV /TY  Saviour,  whom  absent  I  love, 
•^▼-'-     Whom,  not  having  seen,  I  adore, 
Whose  name  is  exalted  above 
All  glory,  dominion,  and  power,  — 
Dissolve  thou  those  bands  that  detain 
My  soul  from  her  portion  in  thee ; 
Ah !  strike  off  this  adamant  chain. 
And  make  me  eternally  free ! 

When  that  happy  era  begins, 
When  arrayed  in  thy  glories  I  shine, 
Nor  grieve  any  more,  by  my  sins, 
The  bosom  on  which  I  recline. 


$6  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Oh,  then  shall  the  vail  be  removed, 
And  round  me  thy  brightness  be  poured ! 
I  shall  meet  him  whom  absent  I  loved, 
I  shall  see  whom  unseen  I  adored. 

And  then  nevermore  shall  the  fears. 
The  trials,  temptations,  and  woes. 
Which  darken  this  valley  of  tears, 
Intrude  on  my  blissful  repose : 
To  Jesus,  the  crown  of  my  hope, 
My  soul  is  in  haste  to  be  gone ; 
Oh !  bear  me,  ye  cherubim,  up. 
And  waft  me  away  to  his  throne ! 


William  Cowper. 


THE   LORD    IS    MY   SHEPHERD. 

"^  I  ^HE  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  he  makes  me  repose 
-*•       Where  the  pastures  in  beauty  are  growing  ; 
He  leads  me  afar  from  the  world  and  its  woes. 
Where  in  peace  the  still  waters  are  flowing. 

He  strengthens  my  spirit,  he  shows  me  the  path 
Where  the  arms  of  his  love  shall  enfold  me ; 
And  when  I  walk  through  the  dark  valley  of  death, 
His  rod  and  his  staff  will  uphold  me. 

Knox. 


l.gl.     » 0— f* 

6'<9A^G^6'   TO   THE  SON.  S7 

HAIL   TO   THE   LORD'S   ANOINTED. 

TTAIL  to  the  Lord's  Anointed, 

-^     Great  David's  greater  Son ! 
Hail,  in  the  time  appointed, 

His  reign  on  earth  begun ! 
He  comes  to  break  oppression, 

To  let  the  captive  free. 
To  take  away  transgression, 

And  rule  in  equity. 

He  comes  with  succor  speedy, 

To  those  who  suffer  wrong ; 
To  help  the  poor  and  needy. 

And  bid  the  weak  be  strong ; 
To  give  them  songs  for  sighing. 

Their  darkness  turn  to  light. 
Whose  souls,  condemned  and  dying, 

Were  precious  in  his  sight. 

He  shall  come  down  like  showers 

Upon  the  fruitful  earth, 
And  love,  joy,  hope,  like  flowers. 

Spring  in  his  path  to  birth ; 
Before  him,  on  the  mountains. 

Shall  peace,  the  herald,  go. 
And  righteousness,  in  fountains. 

From  hill  to  valley  flow. 

Arabia's  desert  ranger 

To  him  shall  bow  the  knee ; 
The  Ethiopian  stranger 

His  glory  come  to  see ; 


4rt— -0- 


$8  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

With  offerings  of  devotion 

Ships  from  the  Isles  shall  meet, 

To  pour  the  wealth  of  ocean 
In  tribute  at  his  feet. 

Kings  shall  fall  down  before  him, 

And  gold  and  incense  bring ; 
All  nations  shall  adore  him, 

His  praise  all  people  sing: 
For  he  shall  have  dominion 

O'er  river,  sea,  and  shore ; 
Far  as  the  eagle's  pinion. 

Or  dove's  light  wing,  can  soar. 

For  him  shall  prayer  unceasing 

And  daily  vows  ascend. 
His  kingdom  still  increasing, 

A  kingdom  without  end  ; 
The  mountain-dews  shall  nourish 

A  seed  in  weakness  sown. 
Whose  fruit  shall  spread  and  flourish, 

And  shake  like  Lebanon. 

O'er  every  foe  victorious 

He  on  his  throne  shall  rest. 
From  age  to  age  more  glorious, 

All-blessing  and  all-blest : 
The  tide  of  time  shall  never 

His  covenant  remove ; 
His  name  shall  stand  for  ever. 

That  name  to  us  is  Love. 

1822.  James  Montgomery. 


SONGS   TO   THE  SON.  59 


JESUS  !    I    LOVE   THY   CHARMING   NAME. 

TESUS  !  I  love  thy  charming  name, 
^      'Tis  music  to  mine  ear ; 
Fain  would  I  sound  it  out  so  loud 
That  earth  and  heaven  should  hear. 

Yes  I  thou  art  precious  to  my  soul, 

My  transport  and  my  trust ; 
Jewels  to  thee  are  gaudy  toys, 

And  gold  is  sordid  dust. 

All  my  capacious  powers  can  wish 

In  thee  doth  nchly  meet : 
Not  to  mine  eyes  is  light  so  dear, 

Nor  friendship  half  so  sweet. 

Thy  grace  still  dwells  upon  my  heart, 
And  sheds  its  fragrance  there,  — 

The  noblest  balm  of  all  its  wounds. 
The  cordial  of  its  care. 

DODDRIDGB. 


HIS    NAME. 

r\  WONDERFUL!  round  whose  birth-hour 
^-^     Prophetic  song,  miraculous  power. 
Cluster  and  turn  like  star  and  flower. 

Those  marvellous  rays  that  at  thy  will. 
From  the  closed  heaven  which  is  so  still. 
So  passionless,  streamed  round  thee  still. 


# 


6o  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Are  but  as  broken  gleams  that  start, 
O  Light  of  lights,  from  thy  deep  heart : 
Thyself,  thyself,  the  wonder  art  I 

O  Counsellor !  four  thousand  years. 
One  question,  tremulous  with  tears, 
One  awful  question  vexed  our  peers. 

They  asked  the  vault,  but  no  one  spoke ; 
They  asked  the  depth,  no  answer  woke ; 
They  asked  their  hearts,  that  only  broke. 

They  looked,  and  sometimes  on  the  height, 
Far  off,  they  saw  a  haze  of  white. 
That  was  a  storm,  but  looked  like  light. 

The  secret  of  the  years  is  read. 
The  enigma  of  the  quick  and  dead, 
By  the  child-voice  interpreted. 

O  everlasting  Father,  God ! 

Sun  after  sun  went  down,  and  trod 

Race  after  race  the  green  earth's  sod, 

Till  generations  seemed  to  be 
But  dead  waves  of  an  endless  sea. 
But  dead  leaves  from  a  deathless  tree. 

But  thou  hast  come,  and  now  we  know 
Each  wave  hath  an  eternal  flow. 
Each  leaf  a  lifetime  after  snow. 

O  Prince  of  Peace !  crowned,  yet  discrowned, 
They  say  no  war  nor  battle's  sound 
Was  heard  the  tired  world  around ; 


-0 — HJ; 


»  SONGS   TO   THE  SON. 

They  say  the  hour  that  thou  didst  come 
The  trumpet's  voice  was  stricken  dumb, 
And  no  one  beat  the  battle-drum. 

Yea,  still  as  life  to  them  that  mark, 
Its  poor  adventure  seems  a  bark, 
Whose  track  is  pale,  whose  sail  is  dark. 

Thou  who  art  wonderful  dost  fling 
One  ray,  till  like  a  sea-bird's  wing 
The  canvas  is  a  snowy  thing ; 

Till  the  dark  boat  is  turned  to  gold. 
The  sun-lit  silvered  ocean  rolled 
With  anthems  that  are  new  and  old, 

With  noble  path  of  luminous  ray 
From  the  boat  slanting  all  the  way. 
To  the  island  of  undying  day. 

And  still  as  clouding  questions  swarm 
Around  our  hearts,  and  dimly  form 
Their  problems  of  the  mist  and  storm ; 

And  still  as  ages  fleet,  but  fraught 
With  syllables,  whereby  is  wrought 
The  fulness  of  the  Eternal  thought ; 

And  when,  not  yet  in  God's  sunshine, 
The  smoke  drifts  from  the  embattled  line 
Of  warring  hearts  that  would  be  thine ; 

We  bid  our  doubts  and  passions  cease, 
Our  restless  fears  be  stilled  with  these,  — 
Counsellor,  Father,  Prince  of  Peace ! 

William  Alexander. 


0— ffl 

6i 


62  so  JVC  S  OF  THE  SOUL. 


WHEN    STREAMING   FROM   THE   EASTERN 
SKIES. 

AT  T'HEN,  streaming  from  the  eastern  skies, 

^  ^     The  morning  light  salutes  mine  eyes, 
O  Sun  of  Righteousness  divine. 
On  me  with  beams  of  mercy  shine  I 
Oh  chase  the  clouds  of  guilt  away. 
And  turn  my  darkness  into  day. 

And  when  to  heaven's  all-glorious  King 
My  morning  sacrifice  I  bring, 
And,  mourning  o'er  my  guilt  and  shame, 
Ask  mercy  in  my  Saviour's  name ; 
Then,  Jesus,  cleanse  me  in  thy  blood. 
And  be  my  Advocate  with  God. 

When  each  day's  scenes  and  labors  close, 
And  wearied  nature  seeks  repose. 
With  pardoning  mercy  richly  blest. 
Guard  me,  my  Saviour,  while  I  rest ; 
And,  as  each  morning's  sun  shall  rise, 
Oh  lead  me  onward  to  the  skies ! 

And  at  my  life's  last  setting  sun, 
My  conflicts  o'er,  my  labors  done, 
Jesus,  thy  heavenly  radiance  shed, 
To  cheer  and  bless  my  dying  bed ; 
And  from  death's  gloom  my  spirit  raise. 
To  see  thy  face,  and  sing  thy  praise. 


Grant. 


SONGS   TO    THE  SON.  63 


YE  ANGELS,  WHO  STAND  ROUND  THE 
THRONE. 

"\/'E  angels,  who  stand  round  the  throne, 
-^      And  view  my  Immanuers  face,  — 
In  rapturous  songs  make  him  known. 

Oh  tune  your  soft  harps  to  his  praise ! 
He  formed  you  the  spirits  you  are, 

So  happy,  so  noble,  so  good  ; 
When  others  sank  down  to  despair. 

Confirmed  by  his  power,  ye  stood. 

Ye  saints,  who  stand  nearer  than  they, 

And  cast  your  bright  crowns  at  his  feet, 
His  grace  and  his  glory  display. 

And  all  his  rich  mercy  repeat ; 
He  snatched  you  from  hell  and  the  grave. 

He  ransomed  from  death  and  despair : 
For  you  he  was  mighty  to  save, 

Almighty  to  bring  you  safe  there. 

Oh,  when  will  the  period  appear 

When  I  shall  unite  in  your  song  ? 
I'm  weary  of  lingering  here, 

And  I  to  your  Saviour  belong ! 
I  want,  oh,  I  want  to  be  there. 

To  sorrow  and  sin  bid  adieu,  — 
Your  joy  and  your  friendship  to  share, — 

To  wonder,  and  worship  with  you ! 


De  Fleury. 


64  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 


AWAKE,    MY   SOUL,   TO   JOYFUL   LAYS. 

A  WAKE,  my  soul,  to  joyful  lays, 
-^^^    And  sing  the  great  Redeemer's  praise ; 
He  justly  claims  a  song  from  me  ; 
His  loving-kindness,  oh  how  free ! 

He  saw  me  ruined  in  the  fall. 
Yet  loved  me,  notwithstanding  all ; 
He  saved  me  from  my  lost  estate : 
His  loving-kindness,  oh  how  great ! 

Though  numerous  hosts  of  mighty  foes, 
Though  earth  and  hell  my  way  oppose, 
He  safely  leads  my  soul  along : 
His  loving-kindness,  oh  how  strong ! 

When  trouble,  like  a  gloomy  cloud, 
Has  gathered  thick  and  thundered  loud, 
He  near  my  soul  has  always  stood : 
His  loving-kindness,  oh  how  good ! 

Soon  shall  I  pass  the  gloomy  vale ; 
Soon  all  my  mortal  powers  must  fail : 
Oh  may  my  last  expiring  breath 
His  loving-kindness  sing  in  death ! 

Then  let  me  mount  and  soar  away 
To  the  bright  world  of  endless  day ; 
And  sing,  with  rapture  and  surprise, 
His  loving-kindness  in  the  skies. 


Medley. 


\'m    0 ^—T? 

SOiVGS   TO    THE  SON.  65 

LAUD    TO    THE    SON. 

{Gloriosi  Salvatoris.) 

'T^O  the  Name  that  brings  salvation, 

-^       Honor,  worship,  laud,  we  pay ; 
That  to  many  a  generation 

Hid  in  God's  foreknowledge  lay ; 
But,  to  every  tongue  and  nation. 

Holy  Church  proclaims  to-day. 

Name  of  gladness,  Name  of  pleasure, 

By  the  tongue  ineffable, 
Name  of  sweetness  passing  measure, 

To  the  ear  delectable, 
'Tis  our  safeguard  and  our  treasure, 

'Tis  our  help  'gainst  sin  and  hell. 

'Tis  the  Name  for  adoration, 

'Tis  the  Name  for  victory ; 
'Tis  the  Name  for  meditation 

In  the  vale  of  misery ; 
'Tis  the  Name  for  veneration 

By  the  citizens  on  high. 

'Tis  the  Name  that  whoso  preaches 

Finds  it  music  in  his  ear ; 
'Tis  the  Name  .that  whoso  teaches 

Finds  more  sweet  than  honey's  cheer ; 
Who  its  perfect  wisdom  reaches. 

Makes  his  ghostly  vision  clear. 
5 


^ 

66  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

'Tis  the  Name  by  right  exalted 

Over  every  other  name  ; 
That,  when  we  are  sore  assaulted, 

Puts  our  enemies  to  shame : 
Strength  to  them  that  else  had  halted, 

Eyes  to  blind,  and  feet  to  lame. 

Jesu,  we,  thy  Name  adoring, 
Long  to  see  thee  as  thou  art ; 

Of  thy  clemency  imploring 
So  to  write  it  on  our  heart. 

That  hereafter,  upward  soaring, 

We  with  angels  may  have  part.     Amen. 

Trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealb. 


>J«=ic 


SONGS    TO    THE    HOLY    SPIRIT. 


BLEST   COMFORTER   DIVINE. 

"DLRST  Comforter  divine! 
-'-^     Whose  rays  of  heavenly  love 
Amid  our  gloom  and  darkness  shine, 
And  point  our  souls  above ; 

Thou  who,  with  still  small  voice. 
Dost  stop  the  sinner's  way. 

And  bid  thy  mourning  child  rejoice, 
Though  earthly  joys  decay; 


SOA^GS   TO    THE  HOLY  SPIRIT.  6j 

Thou  whose  inspiring  breath 

Can  make  the  cloud  of  care, 
And  even  the  gloomy  vale  of  death, 

A  smile  of  glory  wear ; 

Thou  who  dost  fill  the  heart 

With  love  to  all  our  race, 
Blest  Comforter,  to  us  impart 

The  blessings  of  thy  grace  ! 

1824.  Lydia  H.  Sigourney. 


SWEETEST   FOUNT   OF   HOLY   GLADNESS. 
{O  Du  allcrsiiszste  Freiide.) 

O  WEETEST  Fount  of  holy  gladness, 
^^     Fairest  Light  was  ever  shed. 
Who  alike  in  joy  and  sadness 

Leavest  none  unvisited ; 
Spirit  of  the  highest  God, 
Lord  from  whom  is  life  bestowed, 
Who  upholdest  every  thing. 
Hear  me,  hear  me  while  I  sing ! 

Thou  art  shed  like  gentlest  showers 
From  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

Bringing  to  us  quickened  powers, 
Purest  blessing  from  their  throne ; 

Suffer  then,  O  noble  Guest, 

That  rich  gift  by  thee  possest, 

That  thou  givest  at  thy  will. 

All  my  being  now  to  fill. 


f 


6S  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Thou  art  ever  true  and  holy, 

Sin  and  falsehood  thou  dost  hate, 

But  thou  comest  where  the  lowly 
And  the  poor  thy  presence  wait : 

Wash  me  then,  O  Well  of  Grace ! 

Every  stain  and  spot  efface ; 

Let  me  flee  what  thou  dost  flee. 

Grant  me  what  thou  lovest  to  see ! 

Well  content  am  I  if  only 

Thou  wilt  deign  to  dwell  with  me ; 

With  thee  I  am  never  lonely. 
Never  comfortless  with  thee. 

Thine  for  ever  make  me  now, 

And  to  thee,  my  Lord,  I  vow 

Here  and  yonder  to  employ 

Every  power  for  thee  with  joy. 

When  I  cry  for  help,  oh  hear  me  ! 

When  I  sink,  oh  haste  to  save ! 
When  I  die,  be  inly  near  me ! 

Be  my  hope  even  in  the  grave ! 
Bring  me,  when  I  rise  again. 
To  the  land  that  knows  no  pain, 
Where  thy  followers,  from  thy  stream, 
Drink  for  ever  joy  supreme ! 

1076.  Paul  Ghrhardt. 


*— I* 

SONGS  TO    THE  HOLY  SPIRIT.  69 

LITANY   TO   THE   HOLY   SPIRIT. 

TN  the  hour  of  my  distress, 

■^     When  temptations  me  oppress, 

And  when  I  my  sins  confess, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  I  He  within  my  bed. 
Sick  in  heart,  and  sick  in  head. 
And  with  doubts  disquieted. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

And  when  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep, 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep. 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  passing  bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  furies  in  a  shoal 
Come  to  fright  my  parting  soul. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  priest  his  last  has  prayed, 
And  I  nod  to  what  is  said, 
'Cause  my  speech  is  now  decayed. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  God  knows  I'm  tossed  about, 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt. 
Yet  before  the  glass  be  out. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 


70  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

When  the  tapers  now  burn  blue, 
And  the  comforters  are  few, 
And  that  number  more  than  true, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  tempter  me  pursueth 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth. 
And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  flames  and  hellish  cries 
Fright  mine  ears,  and  fright  mine  eyes. 
And  all  terrors  me  surprise. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

When  the  judgment  is  revealed. 
And  that  opened  which  was  sealed. 
When  to  thee  I  have  appealed. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me. 

1647.  Robert  Herrick. 


COME,   HEAVENLY   SPIRIT,   COME. 

{Adsi's,  S7iperne  Spirit  us.) 

/^^OME,  heavenly  Spirit,  come, 
^-^     Kind  Father  of  the  poor ! 
The  Giver  and  the  Gift, 
Enter  my  lowly  door. 
Be  Guest  within  my  heart, 
Nor  ever  hence  depart. 


d— 1*1 

SONGS   TO   THE  HOLY  SPIRIT  /I 

Thou  the  eternal  Truth, 

Into  dark  hearts  steal  in ! 
True  Light,  give  light  to  souls 

Sunk  in  the  night  of  sin ! 
True  Strength,  put  forth  thy  power 
For  us  in  evil  hour ! 

Ours  is  a  world  of  wiles, 

Of  beauteous  vanities ; 
Come,  and  in  us  destroy 

Its  fair  impurities. 
Lest,  by  its  tempting  arts, 
From  thee  it  steal  our  hearts. 

Unveil  thy  glorious  self 

To  us,  O  Holy  One ! 
That  thou  into  our  hearts 

Mayst  shine,  thyself  alone ! 
Saved  from  earth's  vanities, 
To  thee  we  long  to  rise ! 

Renew  us.  Holy  One ! 

Oh  purge  us  in  thy  fire ! 
Refine  us,  heavenly  Flame ! 

Consume  each  low  desire  ! 
Prepare  us  as  a  sacrifice 
Well  pleasing  in  thine  eyes. 

Far  from  thee  we  have  lived, 

Exiles  from  home  and  thee : 
Oh  bring  us  back  in  love, 

End  our  captivity ! 


72  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Be  thou  the  way  we  wend, 
Be  thou  that  way's  blest  end ! 

Glory  to  the  Father  be, 

Glory  to  the  equal  Son, 
Glory  to  the  Spirit  be, 

Glory  to  the  Three  in  One ! 
Spirit,  'tis  thy  breath  divine 
Makes  these  hearts  to  burn  and  shine  I 

Trans,  by  Horatius  Bonar,  from  the  Gallican  Breviary. 


O   HOLY   SPIRIT,   WHO   ART   ONE  1 

{Nunc  sancie  nobis  Spiritus.') 

OHOLY  Spirit,  who  art  One 
With  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son ! 
For  the  dear  sake  of  him  who  died. 
Let  not  my  prayer  be  turned  aside. 
But  answer  it,  O  Holy  Dove, 
By  breathing  o'er  my  soul  his  love. 

Oft  as  my  feet  approach  thy  shrine. 

Upon  my  heart's  affections  shine ; 

And  as  my  lips  thy  praises  sing, 

Oh  consecrate  the  offering, 

And  let  thy  sanctifying  grace 

Make  my  whole  soul  thy  dwelling-place  I 

My  Father,  hallowed  be  thy  name ! 
And  glory  be  to  Him  who  came 


^I±-^- 


397- 


SONGS  TO   THE  HOLY  SPHUT.  73 

To  take  my  flesh,  and  bear  my  load, 
And  lead  the  sinner  back  to  God ; 
And  be  the  psalm  of  praise  to  thee, 
Great  Paraclete,  eternally ! 

St.  Ambrose,  trans,  by  Mrs.  Crewdson. 


COME,   HOLY   GHOST! 

/^OME,  Holy  Ghost !  in  love 
^-^     Shed  on  us  from  above 

Thine  own  bright  ray ! 
Divinely  good  thou  art ; 
Thy  sacred  gifts  impart. 
To  gladden  each  sad  heart : 

Oh  come  to-day ! 

Come,  tenderest  Friend,  and  best, 
Our  most  delightful  Guest, 

With  soothing  power : 
Rest  which  the  weary  know. 
Shade  'mid  the  noon-day  glow. 
Peace  when  deep  griefs  o'erflow,  — 

Cheer  us  this  hour  ! 

Come,  Light  serene,  and  still 
Our  inmost  bosom  fill ; 

Dwell  in  each  breast : 
We  know  no  dawn  but  thine ; 
Send  forth  thy  beams  divine. 
On  our  dark  souls  to  shine. 

And  make  us  blest ! 


74  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Exalt  our  low  desires  ; 
Extinguish  passion's  fires ; 

Heal  every  wound : 
Our  stubborn  spirits  bend ; 
Our  icy  coldness  end  ; 
Our  devious  steps  attend, 

While  heavenward  bound. 

Come,  all  the  faithful  bless ; 
Let  all  who  Christ  confess, 

His  praise  employ : 
Give  virtue's  rich  reward  ; 
Victorious  death  accord. 
And,  with  our  glorious  Lord, 

Eternal  joy ! 

1865.  Ray  Palmer. 


CREATOR   SPIRIT,    BY   WHOSE   AID* 
(^Venij  Creator  Spiritus.) 

/CREATOR  Spirit,  by  whose  aid 

^^     The  world's  foundations  first  were  laid. 

Come,  visit  every  pious  mind ; 

Come,  pour  thy  joys  on  human-kind ; 

From  sin  and  sorrow  set  us  free. 

And  make  thy  temples  worthy  thee. 

*  This  grand  hymn  has  always  held  the  highest  rank  among  poems  addressed  to 
the  Spirit.  "  It  was  appointed  to  be  used,"  says  Daniel,  "  at  the  creation  of  a  pope, 
the  coronation  of  a  king,  the  election  of  a  bishop,  the  celebration  of  a  synod,"  &c. 
At  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  it  was  also  appointed,  by  the  German  and  Anglican 
churches,  to  be  used  on  all  occasions  of  extraordinary  solemnity.  Its  authorship  is 
uncertain.  Daniel  ascribes  it  to  Charlemagne.  Others  have  suppposed  that  it  was 
written  for  Charlemagne  by  Alcuin.  Trench  ascribes  it  to  an  earlier  date.  Mone  and 
Wackernngel  agree  in  ascribing  it  to  Gregory  the  Great ;  and  it  is  generally  con- 
ceded that  the  burden  of  proof  rests  in  their  favor.  —  Ed. 


— -0- 

SOA'GS   TO    THE  HOLY  SPIRIT,  75 

O  Source  of  uncreated  light, 
The  Father's  promised  Paraclete ! 
Thrice  holy  Fount,  thrice  holy  Fire, 
Our  hearts  with  heavenly  love  inspire ! 
Come,  and  thy  sacred  unction  bring. 
To  sanctify  us  while  we  sing. 

Plenteous  of  grace,  descend  from  high 

Rich  in  thy  seven-fold  energy  I 

Thou  strength  of  his  almighty  hand. 

Whose  power  does  heaven  and  earth  command, 

Proceeding  Spirit,  our  defence, 

Who  dost  the  gift  of  tongues  dispense. 

And  crown'st  thy  gifts  with  eloquence ! 

Refine  and  purge  our  earthly  parts ; 
But  oh  inflame  and  fire  our  hearts ! 
Our  frailties  help,  our  vice  control. 
Submit  the  senses  to  the  soul ; 
And  when  rebellious  they  are  grown. 
Then  lay  thy  hand  and  hold  them  down. 

Chase  from  our  mind  the  infernal  foe. 
And  peace,  the  fruit  of  love,  bestow ; 
And,  lest  our  feet  should  step  astray, 
Protect  and  guide  us  in  the  way. 

Make  us  eternal  truth  receive. 
And  practise  all  that  we  believe ; 
Give  us  thyself,  that  we  may  see 
The  Father  and  the  Son  by  thee. 


^_^ 

76  so  AGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Immortal  honor,  endless  fame, 
Attend  the  Almighty  Father's  name ; 
The  Saviour  Son  be  glorified. 
Who  for  man's  lost  redemption  died ; 
And  equal  adoration  be. 
Eternal  Paraclete,  to  thee ! 

Trans,  by  John  Dryden. 


HOLY   SPIRIT,   LORD   OF   LIGHT! 

(Vem,  sancte  Spiritus.) 

TTOLY  Spirit,  Lord  of  Light, 
-*-  -*-     From  thy  clear  celestial  height, 
Thy  pure  beaming  radiance  give ! 

Come,  thou  Father  of  the  poor  ! 
Come  with  treasures  which  endure ! 
Come,  thou  Light  of  all  that  live ! 

Thou,  of  all  consolers  best. 
Visiting  the  troubled  breast. 
Dost  refreshing  peace  bestow ; 

Thou,  in  toil,  art  comfort  sweet, 
Pleasant  coolness  in  the  heat, 
Solace  in  the  midst  of  woe. 

Light  immortal !  Light  divine  ! 
Visit  thou  these  hearts  of  thine, 
And  our  inmost  being  fill. 


SONGS   TO   THE  HOLY  SPIRIT.  77 

If  thou  take  thy  grace  away, 
Nothing  pure  in  man  will  stay, 
All  his  good  is  turned  to  ill. 

Heal  our  wounds,  our  strength  renew ; 
On  our  dryness  pour  thy  dew ; 
Wash  the  stains  of  guilt  away. 

Bend  the  stubborn  heart  and  will ; 
Melt  the  frozen,  warm  the  chill ; 
Guide  the  steps  that  go  astray. 

Thou,  on  those  who  evermore 
Thee  confess  and  thee  adore. 
In  the  seven-fold  gifts  descend ; 

Give  them  comfort  when  they  die ; 
Give  them  life  with  thee  on  high ; 
Give  them  joys  which  never  end. 

1031.  King  Robert  II.  of  France,  trans,  by  Edward  Caswall. 


SEQUENCE   OF   ST.   HILDEGARDE, 
Abbess  of  the   Cloister  of   St.  Rupertsburg. 

{O  Ignis  Spiritus  Pa?'acliti.) 

OFIRE  of  God  the  Comforter!  O  Life  of  all  that 
live! 
Holy  art  thou  to  quicken  us,  and  holy,  strength  to  give  : 
To  heal  the  broken-hearted  ones,  their  sorest  wounds 

to  bind, 
O  Spirit  of  all  holiness,  O  Lover  of  mankind  I 


mr-o- 0 — Ffe 

7S  so  AGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

O  sweetest  taste  within  the  breast,  O  Grace  upon  us 

poured, 
That  saintly  hearts  may  give  again  their  perfume  to 

the  Lord. 
O  purest  Fountain  I  we  can  see,  clear  mirrored  in  thy 

streams, 
That  God  brings  home  the  wanderers,  that  God  the 

lost  redeems. 
O   Breastplate   strong  to  guard  our  life,  O  Bond  of 

unity, 
O  Dwelling-place  of  righteousness,  save  all  who  trust 

in  thee ! 
Defend  those  who  in  dungeon  dark  are  prisoned  by 

the  foe  ; 
And,  for  thy  will  is  aye  to  save,  let  thou  the  captives 

go. 
O   surest  way,  that  through  the  height  and  through 

the  lowest  deep, 
And  through  the  earth,  dost  pass,  and  all  in  firmest 

union  keep ; 
From  thee  the  clouds  and  ether  move,  from  thee  the 

moisture  flows  ; 
From  thee  the  waters  draw  their  rills,  and  earth  with 

verdure  glows ; 
And  thou  dost  ever  teach  the  wise,  and  freely  on  them 

pour 
The  inspiration  of  thy  gifts,  the  gladness  of  thy  lore. 
All  praise  to  thee,  O  Joy  of  life,  O  Hope  and  Strength, 

we  raise. 
Who  givest  us  the  prize  of  Light,  who  art  thyself  all 

Praise ! 

1 180.  Trans,  by  Richard  Frederic  Littledalb. 


LjO— 0 0--4^i3 


SONGS    OF    HOLY-TIDES. 


^>f<c 


HOLY- TIDES. 
{Supema  Matris  Gaudia.) 

'TPHE  Church  on  earth,  ^s-ith  answering  love, 

-*-       Echoes  her  ^Mother's  joys  above : 
These  yearly  feast-days  she  may  keep. 
And  yet  for  endless  festals  weep. 

In  this  world's  vallev  dim  and  wild. 

That  ^Mother  must  assist  the  child ; 
And  heavenly  guards  must  pitch  their  tents, 

And  range  their  ranks  in  our  defence. 

The  world,  the  flesh,  and  Satan's  rage. 
Their  differing  wars  against  us  wage ; 

And.  when  their  phantom-hosts  come  on, 
The  Sabbath  of  the  heart  is  gone. 

This  triple  league,  \\-ith  fierce  dislike. 

At  holy  festivals  would  strike ; 
And  set  the  battle  in  array, 

To  drive  their  peace  from  earth  away. 


^ 


Sz  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

And  storms  confused  above  us  lower, 
Of  hope  and  fear,  and  joy  and  woe; 

And  scarcely,  even  for  one  half-hour. 
Is  silence  in  God's  House  below. - 

That  distant  City,  oh  how  blest. 

Whose  feast-days  know  no  pause  nor  rest ! 

How  gladsome  is  that  Palace-gate, 

Round  which  nor  fear  nor  sorrow  wait ! 

Nor  languor  here,  nor  weary  age. 
Nor  fraud,  nor  dread  of  hostile  rage ; 

But  one  the  joy,  and  one  the  song. 
And  one  the  heart  of  all  the  throng ! 

In  that  serene  and  glorious  place. 
When  this  life's  many  toils  are  past, 

Christ  of  his  everlasting  Grace 
Grant  us  to  join  the  blest  at  last. 
Amen ! 

1172.  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


9j*iC 


SONGS    OF    ADVENT. 


ADVENT      HYMN. 

'TPHE  Advent  morn  shines  cold  and  clear, 
-*■       These  Advent  nights  are  long ; 
Our  lamps  have  burned  year  after  year, 
And  still  their  flame  is  strong. 


<f4— 0 —— 0— «j 


SONGS  OF  ADVENT.  ^Z 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?  we  cry, 

Heartsick  with  hope  deferred : 
No  speaking  signs  are  in  the  sky, 

Is  still  the  watchman's  word. 


The  porter  watches  at  the  gate, 

The  servants  watch  within ; 
The  watch  is  long  betimes,  and  late, 

The  prize  is  slow  to  win : 
Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?     But  still 

His  answer  sounds  the  same,  — 
No  day-break  tops  the  utmost  hill. 

Nor  pale  our  lamps  of  flame. 

One  to  another,  hear  them  speak, 

The  patient  virgins  wise,  — 
Surely  he  is  not  far  to  seek. 

All  night  we  watch  and  rise ; 
The  days  are  evil  looking  back. 

The  coming  days  are  dim  ; 
Yet  count  we  not  his  promise  slack, 

But  watch  and  wait  for  him. 

One  with  another,  soul  with  soul. 

They  kindle  fire  from  fire ; 
Friends  watch  us  who  have  touched  the  goal ; 

They  urge  us.  Come  up  higher ! 
With  them  shall  rest  our  way-sore  feet. 

With  them  is  built  our  home. 
With  Christ,  —  they  sweet,  but  he  most  sweet. 

Sweeter  than  honeycomb. 


84  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

There  no  more  parting,  no  more  pain ; 

The  distant  ones  brought  near ; 
The  lost  so  long  are  found  again,  — 

Long  lost,  but  longer  dear  : 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard. 

Nor  heart  conceived,  that  rest ; 
With  them,  our  good  things  long  deferred ; 

With  Jesus  Christ,  our  best. 

We  weep,  because  the  night  is  long ; 

We  laugh,  for  day  shall  rise ; 
We  sing  a  slow  contented  song, 

And  knock  at  Paradise : 
Weeping,  we  hold  him  fast,  who  wept 

For  us  ;  we  hold  him  fast. 
And  will  not  let  him  go  except 

He  bless  us  first  or  last. 

Weeping,  we  hold  him  fast  to-night  ; 

We  will  not  let  him  go. 
Till  day-break  smite  our  wearied  sight. 

And  summer  smite  the  snow. 
Then  figs  shall  bud,  and  dove  with  dove 

Shall  coo  the  livelong  day ; 
Then  he  shall  say.  Arise,  my  love ! 

My  fair  one,  come  away  ! 

1866.  Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


SOJVGS  OF  ADVENT. 


THE    TIME    DRAWS   NEAR   THE    BIRTH    OF 
CHRIST. 

^  I  ^HE  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ : 
The  moon  is  hid ;  the  night  is  still ; 
The  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  hill 
Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 

Four  voices  of  four  hamlets  round, 

From  far  and  near,  on  mead  and  moor, 
Swell  out  and  fail,  as  if  a  door 

Were  shut  between  me  and  the  sound. 

Each  voice  four  changes  on  the  wind. 
That  now  dilate,  and  now  decrease. 
Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace, 

Peace  and  good-will,  to  all  mankind. 

Rise,  happy  morn  !  rise,  holy  morn  ! 

Draw  forth  the  cheerful  day  from  night : 
O  Father  !  touch  the  east,  and  light 

The  light  that  shone  when  hope  was  born. 

1849  Alfred  Tennyson. 


-0 — HY 


S6  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 


SONGS    OF    CHRISTMAS. 


THERE'S    A   SONG   IN   THE   AIR! 


T' 


'HERE'S  a  song  in  the  air ! 
There's  a  star  in  the  sky ! 
There's  a  mother's  deep  prayer, 
And  a  baby's  low  cry ! 
And  the  star  rains  its  fire  while  the  Beautiful  sing, 
For  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  King  ! 

There's  a  tumult  of  joy 

O'er  the  wonderful  birth. 
For  the  Virgin's  sweet  boy 
Is  the  Lord  of  the  earth. 
Ay  !  the  star  rains  its  fire  while  the  Beautiful  sing, 
For  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  cradles  a  King ! 

In  the  light  of  that  star 

Lie  the  ages  impearled  ; 
And  that  song  from  afar 
Has  swept  over  the  world. 
Every  hearth  is  aflame,  and  the  Beautiful  sing 
In  the  homes  of  the  nations  that  Jesus  is  King ! 


SONGS  OF  CHRISTMAS.  8/ 

We  rejoice  in  the  light, 

And  we  echo  the  song 
That  comes  down  through  the  night 
From  the  heavenly  throng. 
Ay !  we  shout  to  the  lovely  evangel  they  bring, 
And  we  greet  in  his  cradle  our  Saviour  and  King ! 

1870.  John  G.  Holland. 


NO  WAR  NOR  BATTLE'S  SOUND. 


N' 


O  war  nor  battle's  sound 

Was  heard  the  world  around, 
No  hostile  chiefs  to  furious  combat  ran ; 
But  peaceful  was  the  night 
In  which  the  Prince  of  Light 
His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began. 

Lo  !  with  enraptured  ear 
The  watching  shepherds  hear 

Sweet  music,  offspring  of  no  mortal  hand : 
Divinely  warbled  voice, 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

With  blissful  rapture  charmed  the  list'ning  band. 

Sounds  of  so  sweet  a  tone 

Before  were  never  known. 
But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung ; 

W^hile  God  disposed  in  air 

Each  constellation  fair. 
And  the  well-balanced  world  aloft  was  hung. 


88  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

"  Hail,  hail  auspicious  morn  ! 

The  Saviour  Christ  is  born  !  " 
Such  was  th'  immortal  seraph's  song  sublime ; 

''  Glory  to  God  in  heaven  ! 

To  man  sweet  peace  be  given, 
Sweet  peace  and  friendship  to  the  end  of  time." 

1629.  Adapted  from  Milton. 


CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

"DEFORE  the  paling  of  the  stars, 
-*-^     Before  the  winter  morn, 
Before  the  earliest  cock-crow, 

Jesus  Christ  was  born  : 
Born  in  a  stable, 

Cradled  in  a  manger ; 
In  the  world  his  hands  had  made, 

Born  a  stranger. 

Priest  and  king  lay  fast  asleep 

In  Jerusalem  ; 
Young  and  old  lay  fast  asleep 

In  crowded  Bethlehem ; 
Saint  and  angel,  ox  and  ass. 

Kept  a  watch  together, 
Before  the  Christmas  day-break, 

In  the  winter  weather. 


Jesus  on  his  mother's  breast, 

In  the  stable  cold. 
Spotless  Lamb  of  God  was  he. 

Shepherd  of  the  fold  : 


SONGS   OF  CHRISTMAS.  89 

Let  us  kneel  with  Mary  maid, 
With  Joseph  bent  and  hoary, 

With  saint  and  angel,  ox  and  ass. 
To  hail  the  King  of  glory ! 

1865.  Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

/^~^  OD  rest  ye,  merry  gentlemen !    let  nothing  you 

^-^     dismay, 

For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christmas 
day. 

The  dawn  rose  red  o'er  Bethlehem,  the  stars  shone 
through  the  gray. 

When  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christ- 
mas day. 

God  rest  ye,  little  children  !  let  nothing  you  affright, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  your  Saviour,  was  born  this  happy 

night ; 
Along  the  hills  of  Galilee  the  white  flocks  sleeping  lay. 
When   Christ,  the   child   of   Nazareth,  was    born   on 

Christmas  day. 

God  rest  ye,  all  good  Christians !    upon  this  blessed 

morn. 
The  Lord  of  all  good  Christians  was  of  a  woman  born  : 
Now  all  your  sorrows  he  doth  heal,  your  sins  he  takes 

away; 
For  Jesus  Christ,  your  Saviour,  was  born  on  Christmas 

day. 

1858.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch. 


■o-^P 


90  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


A   CORNISH    CAROL. 


Y\7'ELC0ME  !  that  star  in  Judah's  sky. 

That  voice  o'er  Bethlehem's  palmy  glen, 
The  lamp  far  sages  hailed  on  high, 

The  tones  that  thrilled  the  shepherd  men : 
Glory  to  God  in  loftiest  heaven,  — 

Thus  angels  smote  the  echoing  chord,  — 
Glad  tidings  unto  man  forgiven ; 

Peace  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 

The  shepherds  sought  that  birth  divine ; 

The  wise  men  traced  their  guided  way ; 
There,  by  strange  light  and  mystic  sign. 

The  God  they  came  to  worship  lay : 
A  human  babe  in  beauty  smiled, 

Where  lowing  oxen  round  him  trod  ; 
A  maiden  clasped  her  awful  child, 

Pure  offspring  of  the  breath  of  God. 

Those  voices  from  on  high  are  mute ; 

The  star  the  wise  men  saw  is  dim  ; 
But  Hope  still  guides  the  wanderer's  foot, 

And  Faith  renews  the  angel-hymn : 
Glory  to  God  in  loftiest  heaven,  — 

Touch  with  glad  hand  the  ancient  chord,  — 
Good  tidings  unto  man  forgiven  ; 

Peace  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 

1827-  R.  S.  Hawker. 


*t— 0 — ■ ^-^. 

SOA'GS   OF  CHRISTMAS.  9 1 

A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

'^r^HE  moon  that  now  is  shining, 
-*-       In  skies  so  blue  and  bright, 
Shone  ages  since  on  shepherds, 

Who  watched  their  flocks  by  night : 
There  was  no  sound  upon  the  earth. 

The  azure  air  was  still. 
The  sheep  in  quiet  clusters  lay 

Upon  the  grassy  hill. 

When  lo  !  a  white-winged  angel. 

The  watchers  stood  before. 
And  told  how  Christ  was  born  on  earth, 

For  mortals  to  adore  ; 
He  bade  the  trembling  shepherds 

Listen,  nor  be  afraid. 
And  told  how  in  a  manger 

The  glorious  child  was  laid. 

When  suddenly  in  the  heavens 

Appeared  an  angel  band, 
The  while  in  reverent  wonder 

The  Syrian  shepherds  stand. 
And  all  the  bright  host  chanted 

Words  that  shall  never  cease,  — 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest. 

On  earth  good-will  and  peace. 

The  vision  in  the  heavens 

Faded,  and  all  was  still ; 
And  the  wondering  shepherds  left  their  flocks 

To  feed  upon  the  hill : 


92  sojVgs  of  the  soul. 

Towards  the  blessed  city 

Quickly  their  course  they  held, 

And  in  a  lowly  stable 
Virgin  and  child  beheld. 

Beside  a  humble  manger 

Was  the  maiden-mother  mild, 
And  in  her  arms  her  son  divine, 

A  new-born  infant,  smiled. 
No  shade  of  future  sorrow 

From  Calvary  then  was  cast ; 
Only  the  glory  was  revealed, 

The  suffering  was  not  past. 

The  Eastern  kings  before  him  knelt. 

And  rarest  offerings  brought ; 
The  shepherds  worshipped  and  adored 

The  wonders  God  had  wrought : 
They  saw  the  crown  for  Israel's  King, 

The  future's  glorious  part ; 
But  all  these  things  the  mother  kept, 

And  pondered  in  her  heart. 

1858.  Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


TO-DAY   IN    BETHLEHEM    HEAR   I. 

'T^O-DAY  in  Bethlehem  hear  I 

■*-       Sweet  angel  voices  singing,  — 
All  glory  be  to  God  on  high. 
Who  peace  to  earth  is  bringing. 


w- 


SONGS  OF   CHRISTMAS.  93 

The  Virgin  Mary  holdeth  more 

Than  highest  heaven  most  holy : 
Light  shines  on  what  was  dark  before, 

And  lifteth  up  the  lowly. 

God  wills  that  peace  should  be  on  earth, 

And  holy  exaltation : 
Sweet  babe,  I  greet  thy  spotless  birth, 

And  wondrous  incarnation. 
To-day  in  Bethlehem  hear  I 

Even  the  lowly  singing ; 
With  angel  words  that  pierce  the  sky 

All  earth  with  joy  is  ringing. 

St.  John  Damascene,  trans,  by  W.  C.  Dix. 


THE   MANGER  THRONE. 

T    IKE  silver  lamps  in  a  distant  shrine, 
-'-^     The  stars  are  sparkling  clear  and  bright ; 
The  bells  of  the  city  of  God  ring  out, 

For  the  Son  of  Mary  was  born  to-night ; 
The  gloom  is  past,  and  the  morn  at  last 

Is  coming  with  orient  light. 

Never  fell  melodies  half  so  sweet 

As  those  which  are  filling  the  skies ; 

And  never  a  palace  shone  half  so  fair 

As  the  manger-bed  where  our  Saviour  lies ; 

No  night  in  the  year  is  half  so  dear 
As  this  which  has  ended  our  sighs. 


94  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

The  stars  of  heaven  still  shine  as  at  first 
They  gleamed  on  this  wonderful  night ; 

The  bells  of  the  city  of  God  peal  out, 

And  the  angel's  song  still  rings  in  the  height ; 

And  love  still  turns  where  the  Godhead  burns, 
Veiled  in  the  flesh  from  fleshly  sight. 

Faith  sees  no  longer  the  stable  floor. 

The  pavement  of  sapphire  is  there ; 
The  clear  light  of  heaven  streams  out  to  the  world. 

And  angels  of  God  are  crowding  the  air ; 
And  heaven  and  earth  through  the  spotless  birth 

Are  at  peace  on  this  night  so  fair. 

1865.  W.   C.   Dix. 


BRIGHTEST   AND    BEST   OF   THE   SONS    OF   THE 
MORNING. 

TD  RIGHTEST  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 
^^     Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine  aid ! 
Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid  ! 

Cold  on  his  cradle  the  dew-drops  are  shining  ; 

Low  lies  his  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall ; 
Angels  adore  him,  in  slumber  reclining. 

Maker  and  Monarch  and  Saviour  of  all. 

Say,  shall  we  yield  him,  in  costly  devotion, 

Odors  of  Edom  and  offerings  divine  ? 
Gems  of  the  mountain  and  pearls  of  the  ocean. 

Myrrh  from  the  forest  or  gold  from  the  mine } 


-0 Hi 


SONGS  OF  CHRISTMAS.  95 

Vainly  we  offer  each  ample  oblation, 

Vainly  with  gifts  would  his  favor  secure  ; 

Richer  by  far  is  the  heart's  adoration, 

Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor. 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 
Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid ! 

Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning. 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid ! 

1811.  Bishop  Heber. 


THE  WISE  MEN  TO  THY  CRADLE-THRONE. 

nr^HE  wise  men  to  thy  cradle-throne, 
-^       O  Infant  Saviour,  brought  of  old 
The  incense  meet  for  God  alone. 
Sharp  myrrh  and  shining  gold. 

Shine  on  us  too,  sweet  Eastern  Star, 
Thine  own  baptizM  Gentile  band, 

Till  we  have  found  our  Lord  from  far 
An  offering  in  our  hand  ! 

Till  we  have  brought  the  fine  gold  rare, 
Of  zeal  that  giveth  all  for  love  ; 

Till  we  have  prayed  the  glowing  prayer. 
Like  incense  borne  above  ; 

Till  bitter  tears  our  eyes  have  wet. 
Because  our  wilful  hearts  would  err ; 

Worship  and  love  and  sorrow  met. 
Gold,  frankincense,  and  myrrh. 


96  SONGS   OF    THE  SOUL. 

All  meet  for  thee,  our  own  Adored, 
Our  suffering  Saviour,  God,  and  King  ; 

Accept  the  gold  and  incense.  Lord  ; 
Accept  the  myrrh  we  bring ! 

1867.  Ceql  F.  Alexander. 


O   THOU   WHO   BY   A   STAR   DIDST   GUIDE! 

f^\  THOU  who  by  a  star  didst  guide 
^^     The  wise  men  on  their  way, 
Until  it  came  and  stood  beside 
The  place  where  Jesus  lay  ; 

Although  by  stars  thou  dost  not  lead 

Thy  servants  now  below. 
Thy  Holy  Spirit,  when  they  need. 

Will  show  them  how  to  go. 

As  yet  we  know  thee  but  in  part ; 

But  still  we  trust  thy  word, 
That  blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart, 

For  they  shall  see  the  Lord. 

O  Saviour !  give  us,  then,  thy  grace, 

To  make  us  pure  in  heart ; 
That  we  may  see  thee  face  to  face 

Hereafter,  as  thou  art. 

1866.  J.  M.  Neale. 


SOA'GS   OF  CHRISTMAS.  97 


CALM    ON    THE    LISTENING    EAR    OF    NIGHT. 

/^~^ALM  on  the  listening  ear  of  night 
^^     Come  heaven's  melodious  strains, 
Where  wild  Judea  stretches  far 

Her  silver-mantled  plains  ; 
Celestial  choirs  from  courts  above 

Shed  sacred  glories  there ; 
And  angels,  with  their  sparkHng  lyres, 

Make  music  on  the  air. 

The  answering  hills  of  Palestine 

Send  back  the  glad  reply. 
And  greet  from  all  their  holy  heights 

The  day-spring  from  on  high  ; 
O'er  the  blue  depths  of  Galilee 

There  comes  a  holier  calm, 
And  Sharon  waves,  in  solemn  praise, 

Her  silent  groves  of  palm. 

"  Glory  to  God  !  "  the  lofty  strain 

The  realm  of  ether  fills  ; 
How  sweeps  the  song  of  solemn  joy 

O'er  Judah's  sacred  hills  ! 
"  Glory  to  God  !  "  the  sounding  skies 

Loud  with  the  anthems  ring  ; 
"  Peace  to  the  earth,  good-will  to  men, 

P>om  heaven's  Eternal  King  !  " 

Light  on  thy  hills,  Jerusalem  ! 

The  Saviour  now  is  born  ; 
Then  bright  on  Bethlehem's  joyous  plains 

Breaks  the  first  Christmas  morn. 


98  sojVGS  of  the  soul. 

And  brighter  on  Moriah's  brow, 
Crowned  with  her  temple-spires, 

Which  first  proclaim  the  new-born  light, 
Clothed  with  its  orient  fires. 

This  day  shall  Christian  tongues  be  mute, 

And  Christian  hearts  be  cold  ? 
Oh  catch  the  anthem  that  from  heaven 

O'er  Judah's  mountains  rolled, 
When  nightly  burst  from  seraph-harps 

The  high  and  solemn  lay, 
"  Glory  to  God  !  on  earth  be  peace  ! 

Salvation  comes  to-day  !  " 

1850.  Edmund  Sears. 


WHEN  JORDAN  HUSHED  HIS  WATERS  STILL. 

TT  7HEN  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still, 

^  ^       And  silence  slept  on  Zion's  hill ; 
When  Salem's  shepherds  through  the  night 
Watched  o'er  their  flocks  by  starry  light : 

Hark  !  from  the  midnight  hills  around, 
A  voice,  of  more  than  mortal  sound. 
In  distant  hallelujahs  stole. 
Wild  murmuring  o'er  the  raptured  soul. 

Then  swift,  to  every  startled  eye. 
New  streams  of  glory  gild  the  sky ; 
Heaven  bursts  her  azure  gates,  to  pour 
Her  spirits  to  the  midnight  hour. 


^i4— ^- 


SONGS  OF  CHRISTMAS.  99 

On  wheels  of  light,  on  wings  of  flame, 
The  glorious  hosts  of  Zion  came  ; 
High  heaven  with  songs  of  triumph  rung, 
While  thus  they  smote  their  harps,  and  sung : 

O  Zion  !  lift  thy  raptured  eye  ; 
The  long-expected  hour  is  nigh  ; 
The  joys  of  nature  rise  again ; 
The  Prince  of  Salem  comes  to  reign. 

See  Mercy,  from  her  golden  urn. 
Pours  a  rich  stream  to  them  that  mourn  ; 
Behold,  she  binds  with  tender  care, 
The  bleeding  bosom  of  Despair. 

He  comes  to  cheer  the  trembling  heart, 
Bids  Satan  and  his  host  depart ; 
Again  the  day-star  gilds  the  gloom, 
Again  the  bowers  of  Eden  bloom. 

O  Zion  !  lift  thy  raptured  eye  ; 
The  long-expected  hour  is  nigh  ; 
The  joys  of  nature  rise  again ; 
The  Prince  of  Salem  comes  to  reign  ! 

1797.  Thomas  Campbell. 


SONG   OF   THE   ANGELS. 

TT  came  upon  the  midnight  clear, 
-^     That  glorious  song  of  old. 
From  angels  bending  near  the  earth 
To  touch  their  harps  of  gold : 


^hP-fr- 


0—^*1 

lOO  SOJVGS   OF  THE   SOUL. 

"  Peace  on  the  earth,  good-will  to  men 

From  heaven's  all-gracious  King  !  " 
The  world  in  solemn  stillness  lay 

To  hear  the  angels  sing. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come, 

With  peaceful  wings  unfurled ; 
And  still  their  heavenly  music  floats 

O'er  all  the  weary  world : 
Above  its  sad  and  lowly  plains 

They  bend  on  hovering  wing, 
And  ever  o'er  its  Babel  sounds 

The  blessed  angels  sing. 

But  with  the  woes  of  sin  and  strife 

The  world  has  suffered  long ; 
Beneath  the  angel-strain  have  rolled 

Two  thousand  years  of  wrong ; 
And  man,  at  war  with  man,  hears  not 

The  love-song  which  they  bring : 
Oh  hush  the  noise,  ye  men  of  strife, 

And  hear  the  angels  sing ! 

And  ye,  beneath  life's  crushing  load 

Whose  forms  are  bending  low ; 
Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way 

With  painful  steps  and  slow,  — 
Look  now  !  for  glad  and  golden  hours 

Come  swiftly  on  the  wing : 
Oh  rest  beside  the  weary  road, 

And  hear  the  angels  sing ! 


SONGS  OF  CHRISTMAS.  lOI 

For  lo  !  the  days  are  hastening  on, 

By  prophet-bards  foretold, 
When,  with  the  ever-circUng  years, 

Comes  round  the  age  of  gold ; 
When  Peace  shall  over  all  the  earth 

Its  ancient  splendors  fling, 
And  the  whole  world  send  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  angels  sing. 

1850.  Edmund  Sears. 

JAM   DESINANT   SUSPIRIA. 


A' 


WAY  with  sorrow's  sigh, 

Our  prayers  are  heard  on  high ; 
And  through  heaven's  crystal  door. 
On  this  our  earthly  floor. 
Comes  meek-eyed  Peace  to  walk  with  poor  mortality. 

In  dead  of  night  profound. 
There  breaks  a  seraph  sound 
Of  never-ending  morn ; 
The  Lord  of  glory  born 
Within  a  holy  grot  on  this  our  sullen  ground. 

Now  with  that  shepherd  crowd, 
If  it  might  be  allowed, 
We  fain  would  enter  there 
With  awful  hastening  fear. 
And  kiss  that  cradle  chaste,  in  reverend  worship  bowed. 

O  sight  of  strange  surprise 
That  fills  our  gazing  eyes  ! 
A  manger  coldly  strewed. 
And  swaddling-bands  so  rude, 
A  leaning  mother  poor,  and  child  that  helpless  lies. 


m—^ — 0—^. 

102  so  JVC  S   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Art  thou,  O  wondrous  sight, 
Of  lights  the  very  Light, 
Who  holdest  in  thy  hand 
The  sky  and  sea  and  land,  — 
Who  than  the  glorious  heavens  art  more  exceeding 
bright? 

'Tis  so  :  Faith  darts  before, 
And,  through  the  cloud  drawn  o'er, 
She  sees  the  God  of  all, 
Where  angels  prostrate  fall, 
Adoring,  tremble  still,  and  trembling  still  adore. 

No  thunders  round  thee  break ; 
Yet  doth  thy  silence  speak 
From  that,  thy  Teacher's  seat, 
To  us  around  thy  feet. 
To  shun  what  flesh  desires,  what  flesh  abhors  to  seek. 

Within  us,  babe  divine. 
Be  born,  and  make  us  thine ; 
Within  our  souls  reveal 
Thy  love  and  power  to  heal ; 
Be  born,  and  make  our  hearts  thy  cradle  and  thy  shrine. 

1839.  Isaac  Williams. 


KEEP   THE   FEAST   WITH   GLADNESS. 

l^T  TTiEN  the  world  slept  and  night  was  on, 

^^       Of  old  was  heard  a  hymn  divine ; 
First  broke  a  gleam,  then  splendor  shone. 
And  deepened  crimson  line  on  line. 


■fH — 0- 


SONGS  OF  CHRISTMAS,  103 

Take  we  the  tablets  of  the  past 

To  wipe  recorded  woes  away ; 
Now  merry  bells  ring  out  at  last 

For  us  another  Christmas  day. 

He  came,  heaven's  glories  to  unfold, 

To  bring  the  captive  a  release. 
For  age  of  iron,  an  age  of  gold,  — 

Emmanuel,  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
So  chime  the  bells  for  weald  and  wold, 

Hang  the  bright  holly  up  on  high ; 
Aye  fresh  and  green  his  love  untold. 

He  died,  but  ne'er  again  shall  die. 

Then  bear  a  joy  where  joys  are  not. 

Go  speak  a  kindly  word  in  love ; 
Less  bitter  make  some  loveless  lot. 

Now  earth  is  linked  to  heaven  above ; 
And  day  by  day,  in  common  round. 

Or  dark  or  light,  in  joy  or  ill, 
Let  faith  and  love  and  peace  be  found, 

So  ever  work  a  Father's  will. 

For  links  in  many  a  circle  here. 

That  seemed  to  be  so  strong  and  pure, 
Grow  less,  increasing  year  by  year 

Where  only  peace  and  love  endure. 
We  pass  the  graves  with  snowy  pall, 

So  pure  and  calm  is  Christmas  morn ; 
Or  like  God's  grace  the  snow-flakes  fall 

On  this  glad  feast  when  Christ  was  born. 


104  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

The  past  brings  up,  or  deeds  or  dreams, 

Voices  and  faces  known  no  more, 
Hopes  to  be  crowned  when  evening's  gleams 

Flood  with  their  light  the  eternal  shore. 
The  future,  when  Time's  stream  is  dry, 

And  Christmas  feasts  are  gone  for  aye, 
Shall  to  the  King  bring  each  one  nigh : 

Then  dawns  the  bright  and  perfect  day. 

Take  up  once  more  the  angel's  song ; 

The  angel's  joy  let  each  one  share ; 
Our  life  at  longest  is  not  long, 

The  carol  must  be  ended  there. 
Though  here,  the  city  of  the  saints, 

Beryl  and  pearl  are  up  above. 
One  heaven-born  thought  that  future  paints,  — 

A  Son  divine,  a  Saviour's  love. 

F.  G.   Leh. 


3;*j< 


SONGS   OF   EASTER. 


THE  GOLDEN  CANON. 

{avaaraotoq  rjfiipa.) 

''THIS  the  day  of  Resurrection 
-*-       Earth,  tell  it  out  abroad ! 

The  Passover  of  gladness, 
The  Passover  of  God  ! 


SONGS  OF  EASTER.  105 

From  death  to  life  eternal, 

From  this  world  to  the  sky, 
Our  Christ  hath  brought  us  over. 

With  hymns  of  victory. 

Our  hearts  be  pure  from  evil. 

That  we  may  see  aright 
The  Lord  in  rays  eternal 

Of  resurrection  light ; 
And,  listening  to  his  accents. 

May  hear,  so  calm  and  plain, 
His  own,  All  hail !  —  and,  hearing, 

May  raise  the  victor  strain  ! 

Now  let  the  heavens  be  joyful! 

Let  earth  her  song  begin  ! 
Let  the  round  world  keep  triumph, 

And  all  that  is  therein ! 
Invisible  and  visible. 

Their  notes  let  all  things  blend. 
For  Christ  the  Lord  hath  risen  !  — 

Our  joy  that  hath  no  end  ! 

780.  St.  John  Damascene,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealk. 


THE   LORD   OF   LIFE   IS   RISEN. 
(^Der  Herr  ist  aiifeistanden.) 

'T^HE  Lord  of  life  is  risen  ! 

-*-       Sing,  Easter  heralds,  sing ; 
He  burst  his  rocky  prison. 
Wide  let  the  triumph  ring. 


IH — 0- 


Io6  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Tell  how  the  graves  are  quaking, 
The  saints  their  fetters  breaking ; 
Sing,  heralds,  Jesus  lives  ! 

We  hear,  in  thy  blest  greeting, 
Salvation's  work  is  done ! 

We  worship  thee,  repeating. 
Life  for  the  dead  is  won  ! 

O  Head  of  all  believing ! 

O  Joy  of  all  the  grieving  ! 
Unite  us.  Lord,  to  thee. 

Here  at  thy  tomb,  O  Jesus ! 

How  sweet  the  morning's  breath ! 
We  hear  in  all  the  breezes. 

Where  is  thy  sting,  O  Death ! 
Dark  hell  flies  in  commotion  ; 
While,  far  o'er  earth  and  ocean, 

Loud  hallelujahs  ring. 

Oh  publish  this  salvation. 

Ye  heralds,  through  the  earth  ! 

To  every  buried  nation 
Proclaim  the  day  of  birth  ! 

Till,  rising  from  their  slumbers. 

The  countless  heathen  numbers 
Shall  hail  the  risen  light. 

Hail,  hail,  our  Jesus  risen ! 

Sing,  ransomed  brethren,  sing ! 
Through  Death's  dark,  gloomy  prison, 

Let  Easter  chorals  ring  I 


^H— 0- 


SONGS   OF  EASTER.  10/ 

Haste,  haste,  ye  captive  legions  ! 
Come  forth  from  sin's  dark  regions, 
In  Jesus'  kingdom  live  ! 

1851.  Dr.  Lange. 


THE   MORNING   PURPLES    ALL   THE   SKY. 
{Aurora  coelum  purpurat.) 

nPHE  morning  purples  all  the  sky, 

-*-       The  air  with  praises  rings  ; 
Defeated  hell  stands  sullen  by, 

The  world  exulting  sings. 
Glory  to  God  !  our  glad  lips  cry  ; 

All  praise  and  worship  be 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  to  God  most  High, 

For  Christ's  great  victory  ! 

While  he,  the  King,  all  strong  to  save. 

Rends  the  dark  doors  away. 
And  through  the  breaches  of  the  grave 

Strides  forth  into  the  day  ; 
Glory  to  God  !  our  glad  lips  cry ; 

All  praise  and  worship  be 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  to  God  most  High, 

For  Christ's  great  victory  ! 

Death's  captive,  in  his  gloomy  prison, 

Fast  fettered  he  has  lain ; 
But  he  has  mastered  Death,  is  risen, 

And  Death  wears  now  the  chain. 


4rt— ^- 


I08  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Glory  to  God  !  our  glad  lips  cry ; 

All  praise  and  worship  be 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  to  God  most  High, 

For  Christ's  great  victory  ! 

The  shining  angels  cry,  ''  Away 

With  grief  ;  no  spices  bring  ; 
Not  tears,  but  songs,  this  joyful  day, 

Should  greet  the  rising  King !  " 
Glory  to  God !  our  glad  lips  cry ; 

All  praise  and  worship  be 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  to  God  most  High, 

For  Christ's  great  victory  ! 

That  thou  our  Paschal  Lamb  mayst  be, 

And  endless  joy  begin, 
Jesus,  Deliverer,  set  us  free 

From  the  dread  death  of  sin. 
Glory  to  God  !  our  glad  lips  cry ; 

All  praise  and  worship  be 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  to  God  most  High, 

For  Christ's  great  victory  ! 

Roman  Breviary,  trans,  by  A.  R.  Thompson. 


STILL   THY   SORROW,    MAGDALENA! 
{Pone  luctum,  Magdalena  !) 

OTILL  thy  sorrow,  Magdalena! 
^^     Wipe  the  tear-drops  from  thine  eyes  ; 
Not  at  Simon's  board  thou  kneelest. 
Pouring  thy  repentant  sighs  : 


'ip'l.    » — 0— :!* 

SONGS   OF  EASTER.  I09 

All  with  thy  glad  heart  rejoices  ; 
All  things  sing  with  happy  voices, 
Hallelujah  ! 

Laugh  with  rapture,  Magdalena ! 

Be  thy  drooping  forehead  bright ; 
Banished  now  is  every  anguish. 

Breaks  anew  thy  morning  light : 
Christ  from  death  the  world  hath  freed  ; 
He  is  risen,  is  risen  indeed : 
Hallelujah  ! 

Joy  !  exult,  O  Magdalena  ! 

He  hath  burst  the  rocky  prison  ; 
Ended  are  the  days  of  darkness  ; 

Conqueror  hath  he  arisen. 
Mourn  no  more  the  Christ  departed ; 
Run  to  welcome  him,  glad-hearted : 
Hallelujah ! 

Lift  thine  eyes,  O  Magdalena ! 

See  !  thy  living  Master  stands  ; 
See  his  face,  as  ever,  smiling  ; 

See  those  wounds  upon  his  hands, 
On  his  feet,  his  sacred  side,  — 
Gems  that  deck  the  Glorified  : 
Hallelujah ! 

Live,  now  live,  O  Magdalena ! 

Shining  is  thy  new-born  day  ; 
Let  thy  bosom  pant  with  pleasure, 

Death's  poor  terror  flee  away ; 


no  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Far  from  thee  the  tears  of  sadness, 
Welcome  love,  and  welcome  gladness  ! 
Hallelujah  ! 


Trans,  by  E.  A.  Washburn. 


THE   CHURCH,   WHICH   IS    HIS    BRIDE. 

TDUT  on  thy  beautiful  robes,  Bride  of  Christ, 
^        For  the  King  shall  embrace  thee  to-day ; 
Break  forth  into  singing,  the  morning  has  dawned. 
And  the  shadows  of  night  are  away. 

Shake  off  the  dust  from  thy  feet,  Bride  of  Christ, 
For  the  Conqueror,  girded  with  might. 

Has  vanquished  the  foe,  the  dragon  cast  down, 
And  the  cohorts  of  hell  put  to  flight. 

Thou  art  the  Bride  of  his  love,  his  elect ; 

Dry  thy  tears,  for  thy  sorrows  are  past ; 
Lone  were  the  hours  when  thy  Lord  was  away, 

But  he  comes  with  the  morning  at  last. 

The  winds  bear  the  noise  of  his  chariot  wheels, 

And  the  thunders  of  victory  roar  ; 
Lift  up  thy  beautiful  gates.  Bride  of  Christ, 

For  the  grave  has  dominion  no  more. 

Once  they  arrayed  him  with  scorning,  but  see 

His  apparel  is  glorious  now  : 
In  his  hand  are  the  keys  of  death  and  of  hell, 

And  the  diadem  gleams  on  his  brow. 


4H — <y 


[.qi;!.    » o-^A 

SOA^GS   OF  EASTER.  Ill 

Hark  !  'tis  her  voice  :  Alleluia  she  sings, 

Alleluia  !  the  captives  are  free  ! 
Unfolded  the  gates  of  paradise  stand, 

And  unfolded  forever  shall  be. 

Choir  answers  choir,  where  the  song  has  no  end, 

All  the  saints  raise  Hosannas  on  high. 
Deep  calls  unto  deep  in  the  ocean  of  love. 

As  the  Bride  lifts  her  jubilant  cry. 

1865.  W.  C.  Dix. 


HAIL,   DAY   OF   DAYS! 

{Salve,  festa  dies,  toto  venerabilis  cbvo.) 

T  TAIL,  Day  of  days !  in  peals  of  praise 
-*-  -^     Throughout  all  ages  owned, 
When  Christ  our  God  hell's  empire  trod. 
And  high  o'er  heaven  was  throned. 

This  glorious  morn  the  world,  new-born, 

In  rising  beauty  shows  ; 
How,  with  her  Lord  to  life  restored. 

Her  gifts  and  graces  rose  ! 

The  spring  serene,  in  sparkling  sheen, 
The  flower-clad  earth  arrays  ; 

Heaven's  portal  bright  its  radiant  light 
In  fuller  flood  displays. 

The  fiery  sun,  in  loftier  noon, 
O'er  heaven's  high  orbit  shines. 

As  o'er  the  tide  of  waters  wide 
He  rises  and  declines. 


0— f* 

112  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

From  hell's  deep  gloom,  from  earth's  dark  tomb, 

The  Lord  in  triumph  soars  ; 
The  forests  raise  their  leafy  praise  ; 

The  flowery  field  adores. 

As  star  by  star  he  mounts  afar, 

And  hell  imprisoned  lies, 
Let  stars,  and  light,  and  depth,  and  height 

In  hallelujahs  rise. 

Lo  !  he  who  died,  the  Crucified, 

God  over  all  he  reigns  ; 
On  him  we  call,  his  creatures  all, 

Who  heaven  and  earth  sustains. 

600.  Venantius  Fortunatus. 


RISE,   GLORIOUS   CONQUEROR!    RISE. 

"D  ISE,  glorious  Conqueror!  rise 
-'-^     Into  thy  native  skies, — 

Assume  thy  right ; 
And  where,  in  many  a  fold. 
The  clouds  are  backward  rolled, 
Pass  through  those  gates  of  gold, 

And  reign  in  light ! 

Victor  o'er  death  and  hell. 
Cherubic  legions  swell 

The  radiant  train ; 
Praises  all  heaven  inspire  ; 
Each  angel  sweeps  his  lyre, 
And  waves  his  wings  of  fire,  — 

Thou  Lamb  once  slain  I 


1848. 


■ 0— Tt* 

SOA'GS  OF  EASTER.  113 

Saviour  triumphant,  hail ! 
And  let  thy  name  prevail 

From  age  to  age  : 
Lord  of  the  rolling  years, 
Claim  for  thine  own  the  spheres  ; 
For  thou  hast  bought  with  tears 

Thy  heritage. 

Yet  who  are  these  behind, 
In  numbers  more  than  mind 

Can  count  or  say. 
Clothed  in  immortal  stoles, 
Illumining  the  poles, 
A  galaxy  of  souls 

In  white  array  ? 

And  then  was  heard  afar 
Star  answering  to  star  : 

"  Lo  !  these  have  come,  — 
Followers  of  Him  who  gave 
His  life  their  lives  to  save  ; 
And  now  their  palms  they  wave, 

Brought  safely  home." 

Matthew  Bridges. 


114  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

LAMB,   THE   ONCE   CRUCIFIED. 

{Lajnjn,  das  gelitten,  tind  Lowe,  der  siegreich  gerungen^ 

T    AMB,  the  once  crucified !  Lion,  by  triumph  sur- 
-■— ^     rounded ! 

Victim    all   bloody,   and    Hero   who   hell   hast   con- 
founded ! 

Pain-riven  heart. 
That  from  earth's  deadliest  smart 
O'er  all  the  heavens  hast  bounded  ! 

Thou  in  the  depths  wert  to  mortals  the  highest  re- 
vealing, 
God  in  humanity  veiled,  thy  full  glory  concealing ! 
"  Worthy  art  thou  !  " 
Shouteth  eternity  now. 
Praise  to  thee  endlessly  pealing. 

Heavenly  Love,  in  the  language  of  earth  past  expres- 
sion ! 
Lord   of   all  worlds,  unto  whem  every  tongue  owes 
confession  ! 

Didst  thou  not  go, 
And  under  sentence  of  woe. 
Rescue  the  doomed  by  transgression  } 

O'er  the  abyss  of  the  grave,  and  its  horrors  infernal, 
Victory's  palm  thou  art  waving  in  triumph  supernal : 
Who  to  thee  cling, 

Circled  by  hope,  shall  now  bring 

Out  of  its  gulf  life  eternal. 


SONGS  OF  EASTER.  II5 

Son  of  Man,  Saviour,  in  whom,  with  deep  tenderness 

blending. 
Infinite  Pity  to  wretches  her  balm  is  extending  : 
On  thy  dear  breast, 
Weary  and  numb,  they  may  rest. 
Quickened  to  joy  never  ending. 

Strange  condescension  !  immaculate  Purity,  deigning 
Union  with  souls  where  the  vilest  pollution  is  reign- 
ing, 

Beareth  their  sin, 
Seeketh  the  fallen  to  win, 
Even  the  lowest  regaining. 

Sweetly  persuasive,  to  me,  too,  thy  call  has  resounded  ; 
Melting     my     heart     so     obdurate,     thy    love    has 
abounded ; 

Back  to  the  fold, 
Led  by  thy  hand,  I  behold 
Grace  all  my  path  has  surrounded. 

Bless  thou  the  Lord,  O  my  soul !  who,  thy  pardon 

assuring. 
Heals  thy  diseases,  and  grants  thee  new  life  ever- 
during ; 

Joy  amid  woe, 
Peace  amid  strife  here  below. 
Unto  thee  ever  securing. 

Upward  on  pinions  celestial,  to  regions  of  pleasure. 
Into   the   land  whose   bright   glories  no  mortal  can 
measure, 


% 


Il6  SO  AGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Strong  hope  and  love 
Bear  thee,  the  fulness  to  prove 
Of  thy  salvation's  rich  treasure. 

There,   as    he   is,  we  shall   view   him,  with   rapture 

abiding, 
Cheered  even  here  by  his  glance,  when  the  darkness 
dividing 

Lets  down  a  ray, 
Over  the  perilous  way 
Thousands  of  wanderers  guiding. 

Join,  O  my  voice !  the  vast  chorus,  with  trembling 

emotion  : 
Chorus  of  saints  who,  though  sundered  by  land  and 
by  ocean, 

With  sweet  accord 
Praise  the  same  glorious  Lord, 
One  in  their  ceaseless  devotion. 

Break  forth,  O  Nature !  in  song,  when  the  spring-tide 

is  highest ! 
World  that  hast  seen  his   salvation,  no  longer  thou 
sighest ! 

Shout,  starry  train, 
From  your  empyreal  plain, 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest  ! " 

183 1.  Meta   Heusser-Schweizer,  trans,  by  Thomas  C.    Porter. 


SONGS   OF  EASTER.  I17 


WHEN    GOD    OF   OLD    CAME   DOWN   FROM 
HEAVEN. 

"^T  7HEN  God  of  old  came  down  from  heaven, 

^  ^     In  power  and  wrath  he  came  ; 
Before  his  feet  the  clouds  were  riven, 
Half  darkness  and  half  flame. 

Around  the  trembling  mountain's  base 

The  prostrate  people  lay  : 
A  day  of  wrath,  and  not  of  grace  ; 

A  dim  and  dreadful  day. 

But  when  he  came  the  second  time, 

He  came  in  power  and  love  ; 
Softer  than  gale  at  morning  prime 

Hovered  his  holy  Dove, 

The  fires,  that  rushed  on  Sinai  down 

In  sudden  torrents  dread, 
Now  gently  light,  a  glorious  crown, 

On  every  sainted  head. 

Like  arrows  went  those  lightnings  forth. 

Winged  with  the  sinner's  doom  ; 
But  these,  like  tongues,  o'er  all  the  earth 

Proclaiming  life  to  come. 

And  as  on  Israel's  awe-struck  ear 

The  voice  exceeding  loud, 
The  trump  that  angels  quake  to  hear. 

Thrilled  from  the  deep,  dark  cloud  ; 


^tf-o- 


■ «— f* 

Il8  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

So,  when  the  Spirit  of  our  God 

Came  down,  his  flock  to  find, 
A  voice  from  heaven  was  heard  abroad, 

A  rushing,  mighty  wind. 

Nor  doth  the  outward  ear  alone 

At  that  high  warning  start : 
Conscience  gives  back  the  appaUing  tone ; 

'Tis  echoed  in  the  heart. 

It  fills  the  Church  of  God,  it  fills 

The  sinful  world  around  : 
Only  in  stubborn  hearts  and  wills 

No  place  for  it  is  found. 

To  other  strains  our  souls  are  set : 

A  giddy  whirl  of  sin 
Fills  ear  and  brain,  and  will  not  let 

Heaven's  harmonies  come  in. 

Come,  Lord !  come  Wisdom,  Love,  and  Power, 

Open  our  ears  to  hear ! 
Let  us  not  miss  the  accepted  hour ; 

Save,  Lord,  by  love  or  fear ! 

1827.  John  Keblk. 


OUR  BLEST  REDEEMER  ERE  HE  BREATHED. 

/^UR  blest  Redeemer,  ere  he  breathed 
^^     His  tender,  last  farewell, 
A  Guide,  a  Comforter,  bequeathed, 
With  us  to  dwell. 


4H— 0- 


\'m\    » — 0-4* 

SONGS  OF  EASTER.  IIQ 

He  came  in  semblance  of  a  dove, 

With  sheltering  wings  outspread, 
The  holy  balm  of  peace  and  love 
On  earth  to  shed. 

He  came,  in  tongues  of  living  flame, 

To  teach,  convince,  subdue  ; 
All-powerful  as  the  wind  he  came, 
As  viewless  too. 

He  came,  sweet  influence  to  impart, 

A  gracious,  willing  Guest, 
While  he  can  find  one  humble  heart 
Wherein  to  rest. 

And  his  that  gentle  voice  we  hear, 

Soft  as  the  breath  of  even. 
That  checks  each  fault,  that  calms  each  fear, 
And  speaks  of  Heaven. 

1829.  Harriet  Auber. 


THOU   WHO    ONE   IN   ESSENCE   LIVEST. 
{Simplex  in  Essentia.') 

'T^HOU  who  One  in  Essence  livest, 
-^       Seven-fold  in  the  grace  thou  givest, 

Holy  Spirit,  on  us  shine ! 
All  the  shadows  o'er  us  brooding. 
All  the  snares  our  flesh  deluding, 

Lighten  by  thy  beam  divine. 


»    im 

120  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Clad  in  fear,  in  darkness  clouded, 
Came  the  Law  in  figure  shrouded  : 

Now  behold  the  Gospel  ray, 
Now  the  Spirit's  wisdom  better, 
Hidden  by  the  leafy  letter. 

Open  into  perfect  day. 

'Neath  the  mount  the  people  trembled  : 
In  the  upper  room  assembled, 

Heard  a  few  the  word  of  Grace  : 
Nobler  law  than  Sinai  telling. 
Newer  precepts,  gifts  excelling, 

Learn  we  in  that  holy  place. 

Trumpet  clang  and  fiery  wonder, 
Midnight  and  the  muttering  thunder, 

Bickering  lamps  and  sounds  of  dread, 
Shook  the  Hebrew,  conscience-stricken  ; 
But  the  love  it  could  not  quicken, 

By  the  Oil  of  gladness  shed. 

See  the  fathers,  fore-appointed, 
God's  ambassadors  anointed. 

Break  the  chains  of  human  ill : 
Raining  truth,  and  judgment  pealing. 
With  new  tongues  and  doctrines  healing, 

Heavenly  signs  attend  them  still. 

See,  the  sick  they  kindly  cherish : 
Man's  lost  nature,  nigh  to  perish. 

Love  divine  will  seek,  will  find ; 
But  the  guilty,  past  repentance. 
Scourge  they  with  pursuing  sentence  ; 

Theirs  to  loose,  and  theirs  to  bind. 


SONGS   OF  SUNDAY.  121 

This  the  time  to  by-gone  ages, 
If  you  search  the  mystic  pages, 

In  the  Jubilee  foreshowed  : 
Lo  !  the  long  descried  fulfilling, 
When  three  thousand  converts  willing 

Bloomed  within  the  Church  of  God. 

Jubilee  !  the  glorious  token, 

When  the  captive's  bonds  were  broken. 

Rose  anew  Redemption's  morn  ; 
So  from  sin's  dark,  hapless  prison, 
By  the  law  of  love  new-risen. 

Sons  of  God  are  we  free-born. 

Adam   of  St.   Victor,  trans,  by  E.   A.   Washburn. 


J^e^c 


SONGS    OF    SUNDAY. 


O 


SUNDAY. 

DAY  most  calm,  most  bright ! 
The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud ; 
The  indorsement  of  supreme  delight. 
Writ  by  a  Friend,  and  with  his  blood  ; 
The  couch  of  time  ;  care's  balm  and  bay  ;  — 
The  week  were  dark  but  for  thy  light : 
Thy  torch  doth  show  the  way. 

Sundays  the  pillars  are 
On  which  heaven's  palace  arched  lies : 
The  other  days  fill  up  the  spare 
And  hollow  room  with  vanities. 


i^t-^ 0— s 


122  SOjVGS   of   the  SOUL. 

They  are  the  fruitful  beds  and  borders 
Of  God's  rich  garden  :  that  is  bare 

Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 

The  Sundays  of  man's  life, 
Threaded  together  on  Time's  string, 
Make  bracelets  to  adorn  the  wife 
Of  the  eternal,  glorious  King. 
On  Sunday  heaven's  gate  stands  ope ; 
Blessings  are  plentiful  and  rife, 

More  plentiful  than  hope. 

Thou  art  a  day  of  mirth  ; 
And  where  the  week-days  trail  on  ground, 
Thy  flight  is  higher,  as  thy  birth. 
Oh  let  me  take  thee  at  the  bound. 
Leaping  with  thee  from  seven  to  seven. 
Till  that  we  both,  being  tossed  from  earth, 

Fly  hand  in  hand  to  heaven. 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


THE   FESTAL   MORN,   MY   GOD,    IS   COME. 

npHE  festal  morn,  my  God,  is  come, 
-*-       That  calls  me  to  thy  hallowed  dome, 

Thy  presence  to  adore  : 
My  feet  the  summons  shall  attend, 
With  willing  steps  thy  courts  ascend. 
And  tread  the  sacred  floor. 


rlH— 0- 


SONGS   OF  SUNDAY.  1 23 

With  holy  joy  I  hail  the  day 

That  warns  my  thirsting  soul  away 

To  dwell  among  the  blest  I 
For,  lo  !  my  great  Redeemer's  power 
Unfolds  the  everlasting  door, 

And  leads  me  to  his  rest  I 

Even  now,  to  my  expecting  eyes. 

The  heaven-built  towers  of  Salem  rise  : 

Even  now,  with  glad  survey, 
I  view  her  mansions,  that  contain 
The  angel  forms,  a  beauteous  train, 

And  shine  with  cloudless  day. 

Hither,  from  earth's  remotest  end, 
Lo  !  the  redeemed  of  God  ascend, 

Their  tribute  hither  bring  : 
Here,  crowned  with  everlasting  joy. 
In  hymns  of  praise  their  tongues  employ, 

And  hail  the  immortal  King. 


MY   LORD,   MY   LOVE,   WAS    CRUCIFIED. 

IV /TY  Lord,  my  love,  was  crucified, 
^^^     He  all  the  pains  did  bear  ; 
But  in  the  sweetness  of  his  rest 

He  makes  his  servants  share. 
How  sweetly  rest  thy  saints  above 

Which  in  thy  bosom  lie  ! 
The  Church  below  doth  rest  in  hope 

Of  that  felicity. 


124  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Thou,  Lord,  who  daily  feed'st  thy  sheep, 

Mak'st  them  a  weekly  feast ; 
Thy  flocks  meet  in  their  several  folds 

Upon  this  day  of  rest. 
Welcome  and  dear  unto  my  soul 

Are  these  sweet  feasts  of  love  ; 
But  what  a  Sabbath  shall  I  keep 

When  I  shall  rest  above ! 

I  bless  thy  wise  and  wondrous  love. 

Which  binds  us  to  be  free  ; 
Which  makes  us  leave  our  earthly  snares, 

That  we  may  come  to  thee. 
I  come,  I  wait,  I  hear,  I  pray ! 

Thy  footsteps.  Lord,  I  trace  ! 
I  sing  to  think  this  is  the  way 

Unto  my  Saviour's  face  ! 

^683.  John  Mason. 


O   DAY   OF   REST   AND   GLADNESS. 

/^  DAY  of  rest  and  gladness, 
^-^     O  day  of  joy  and  light, 
O  balm  of  care  and  sadness. 

Most  beautiful,  most  bright ! 
On  thee  the  high  and  lowly. 

Through  ages  joined  in  tune, 
Sing  holy,  holy,  holy, 

To  the  great  God  Triune. 


^H-~o- 


SONGS   OF  SUNDAY,  1 25 

On  thee,  at  the  creation, 

The  hght  first  had  its  birth ; 
On  thee,  for  our  salvation, 

Christ  rose  from  depths  of  earth  ; 
On  thee,  our  Lord  victorious 

The  Spirit  sent  from  heaven  ; 
And  thus  on  thee,  most  glorious, 

A  triple  light  was  given. 

Thou  art  a  Port,  protected 

From  storms  that  round  us  rise ; 
A  Garden,  intersected 

With  streams  from  paradise ; 
Thou  art  a  cooling  Fountain 

In  life's  dry,  dreary  sand ; 
From  thee,  like  Pisgah's  mountain, 

We  view  our  promised  land. 

Thou  art  a  holy  Ladder 

Where  angels  go  and  come  ; 
Each  Sunday  finds  us  gladder, 

Nearer  to  heaven  our  home. 
A  day  of  sweet  refection, 

Thou  art  a  day  of  love  ; 
A  day  of  resurrection. 

From  earth,  to  things  above. 

To-day  on  weary  nations 

The  heavenly  manna  falls  ; 
To  holy  convocations 

The  silver  trumpet  calls, 


126  SOA^GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Where  gospel  light  is  glowing 
With  pure  and  radiant  beams, 

And  living  water  flowing 

With  soul-refreshing  streams. 

New  graces  ever  gaining 

From  this,  our  day  of  rest. 
We  reach  the  rest  remaining 

To  spirits  of  the  blest. 
To  Holy  Ghost  be  praises  ! 

To  Father  and  to  Son  ! 
The  Church  her  voice  upraises 

To  thee,  blest  Three  in  One ! 

i8o2.  Christopher  Wordsworth. 


^>*:< 


SONGS      OF      BAPTISM. 


BAPTISMAL   HYMN. 

TN  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fear 
-*-     Christ  crucified  to  own, 
We  print  the  cross  upon  thee  here. 
And  stamp  thee  his  alone. 

In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  blush 

To  glory  in  his  name. 
We  blazon  here  upon  thy  front 

His  glory  and  his  shame." 


SONGS  OF  BAPTISM.  12 J 

In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  flinch 

Christ's  quarrel  to  maintain, 
But  'neath  his  banner  manfully 

Firm  at  thy  post  remain  ; 

In  token  that  thou  too  shalt  tread 

The  path  he  travelled  by, 
Endure  the  cross,  despise  the  shame, 

And  sit  thee  down  on  high  ; 

Thus  outwardly,  and  visibly. 

We  seal  thee  for  his  own ; 
And  may  the  brow  that  wears  his  cross 

Hereafter  share  his  crown. 

1845.  Dean  Alford. 


WE  PRAISE  THEE,  SAVIOUR,  FOR  THE  GRACE. 

"\  T  7E  praise  thee.  Saviour,  for  the  grace 

^  ^       That  bids  us  with  our  infants  come, 
That  gives  them  in  thy  heart  a  place. 
And  in  thy  kingdom  grants  them  room. 

We  bring  them  to  thine  altar.  Lord, 

And  here  the  holy  seal  apply  ; 
Oh  make  them  clean,  their  names  record 

In  thine  own  Book  of  Life  on  high  ! 

When  storms  shall  beat,  or  gathering  foes 
Beset  the  path  their  feet  must  tread. 

Dear  Shepherd,  let  thine  arms  enclose. 
Or  o'er  them  for  defence  be  spread. 


tH — 0- 


128  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

If  thou  hast  marked  them  for  the  tomb, 
Ere  morning  brightens  into  day, 

As  in  thy  bosom  bear  them  home, 
And  gently  wipe  our  tears  away. 

Or  if,  when  gathered  to  thy  rest, 

'Tis  ours  to  leave  them  pilgrims  still. 

Guide  thou  their  steps,  till  with  us,  blest. 
They  reach  thine  Everlasting  Hill ! 

1865.  Ray   Pai.mer, 

O    FATHER-HEART. 

(O  Vaterhertz  das  Erd  U7id  Himtnel  schuf.) 

r\  FATHER-HEART,  who  hast  created  all 

^-^     In  wisest  love,  we  pray 

Look  on  this  babe,  who  at  thy  gracious  call 

Is  entering  on  life's  way ! 
Bend  o'er  it  now  with  blessing  fraught. 
And  make  thou  something  out  of  naught, 
O  Father-heart ! 

O  Son  of  God,  who  diedst  for  us,  behold 

We  bring  our  child  to  thee  ! 
Thou  tender  Shepherd,  take  it  to  thy  fold, 

Thine  own  for  aye  to  be ; 
Defend  it  through  this  earthly  strife, 
And  lead  it  on  the  path  of  life, 
O  Son  of  God  ! 

O  Holy  Ghost,  who  broodest  o'er  the  wave, 

Descend  upon  this  child  ! 
Give  it  undying  life,  its  spirit  lave 

With  waters  undefiled ; 


*f— 0 ■ d-4:* 

SOJVGS  OF  BAPTISM.  1 29 

Grant  it,  while  yet  a  babe,  to  be 
A  child  of  God,  a  home  for  thee, 
O  Holy  Ghost ! 

O  Triune  God,  what  thou  command'st  is  done ; 

We  speak,  but  thine  the  might ! 
This  child  hath  scarce  yet  seen  one  earthly  sun, 

Yet  pour  on  it  thy  light. 
In  faith  and  hope,  in  joy  and  love. 
Thou  Sun  of  all  below,  above, 
O  Triune  God  ! 

1823.  Albert  Knapp. 


MY   BAPTISMAL   BIRTHDAY. 

/^^  OD'S  child  in  Christ  adopted,  —  Christ  my  all,  — 
^-^     What  that  earth  boasts  were  not  lost  cheaply, 

rather 
Than  forfeit  that  blest  name,  by  which  I  call 
The  Holy  One,  the  Almighty  God,  my  Father? 
Father !  in  Christ  we  live,  and  Christ  in  thee ; 
Eternal  thou,  and  everlasting  we. 
The  heir  of  heaven,  henceforth  I  fear  not  death ; 
In  Christ  I  live,  in  Christ  I  draw  the  breath 
Of  the  true  life  ;  let  then  earth,  sea,  and  sky 
Make  war  against  me  I  on  my  front  I  show 
Their  mighty  Master's  seal.     In  vain  they  try 
To  end  my  life,  that  can  but  end  its  woe. 
Is  that  a  death-bed  where  a  Christian  lies  ? 
Yes  ;  but  not  his  :  'tis  Death  itself  there  dies. 

1833.  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 

9 


130  sojVCs  of  the  soul. 


SONGS  OF  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION. 


HYMN   OF   ST.  THOMAS   AQUINAS. 
{Pange,  lingua^  gloriosi  corporis  jnysterium.) 

OING,  and  the  mystery  declare  ; 
^^     Sing  of  the  glorious  Body  slain  ; 
And  of  the  blood  beyond  compare,  — 

Price  of  the  world,  —  that  not  in  vain 
He,  sole  of  men  pure-born,  hath  shed  ; 
He,  of  the  nations  King  and  Head. 

To  us  was  born  the  Christ  of  God  ; 

A  virgin's  Son  to  us  was  given ; 
And,  while  the  earth  his  footsteps  trod, 

Abroad  he  sowed  the  seed  of  Heaven  ; 
Then,  when  drew  near  his  destined  hour, 
Ordained  this  rite  of  wondrous  power. 

'Twas  on  the  last  night  of  the  feast, 
Reclining  with  his  faithful  few. 

Of  ancient  laws,  e'en  to  the  least. 
Each  word  obeyed  with  service  true ; 

Himself  he  gave  with  his  own  hand 

The  Bread  of  Life  to  all  the  band. 


SONGS   OF   THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.        13I 

The  incarnate  Word,  in  broken  bread, 
His  Body  broken  there  did  show ; 

And  in  the  wine  his  blood,  once  shed 
From  guilt  to  cleanse,  to  save  from  woe  ; 

Where  falters  sense,  faith  trusts  his  word, 

And  souls  sincere  receive  the  Lord. 

Before  this  noblest  sacrifice. 
In  reverent  love  we  lowly  bow  ; 

No  more  the  appointed  victim  dies. 
But  shadow  yields  to  substance  now ; 

While  Faith,  that  want  of  sight  supplies, 

Lifts  to  the  cross  her  trustful  eyes  ! 

Now  to  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
And  Spirit  sent  by  each,  shall  be 

All  worship,  honor,  homage  done. 
By  all  that  live,  eternally  ; 

Unto  the  Three  in  One  be  given 

An  equal  praise  in  earth  and  heaven ! 
Amen. 

1274.  Trans,  by  Ray  Palmer. 


SACRAMENTAL   HYMN. 

L^ROM  tangled  ways  by  which  I  wandered  far 
-*-        In  realms  of  doubt  unlit  of  moon  or  star. 
Where  muttering  fears  and  legioned  phantoms  are, 
Jesus,  I  come. 


%- 

132  SONGS  OF  THE   SOUL. 

'Tis  not  that  I  have  found  thy  temple's  base, 
Or  yet  among  the  clouds  its  top  can  trace, 
Enough,  henceforth  I  see  its  inner  grace. 
Enough  for  me. 

How  rolls  thy  Jordan  to  the  wondrous  sea 
Of  boundless  Godhead,  still  is  hid  from  me, 
I  have  such  need  to  be  baptized  of  thee, 
Dear  Christ,  I  come. 

I  see  thy  white  feet  on  Judea's  hills, 
I  hear  the  melting  flow  of  Kedron's  rills. 
Time's  dreary  desert  all  that  vision  fills 
I  know  not  how. 

The  ages  show  their  garnered  sheaves  of  thought, 
By  all  the  gleaning  generations  brought,  ' 
Some  secret  mildew  on  them  all  hath  wrought, 
No  food  is  there. 

But  in  an  upper  room  in  Palestine, 
Is  one  that  giveth  mystic  bread  and  wine, 
I  reach  out  for  that  nourishment  divine, 
And  faint  no  more. 

Oh,  many  hands  tear  down  thy  fane  to-day. 
Yet,  lo  !  its  stones  all  man's  true  building  stay ; 
Give  unto  me  the  gold  without  the  clay, 
O  great  High  Priest ! 

The  marvels  of  thy  beauty  draw  me  so. 
The  sweetness  of  thy  sacrificial  woe, 
Divinest  vision  that  the  world  can  show. 
Stay  in  my  sight ! 


-0 — hi» 


SOiYGS   OF  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.        1 33 

Though  Reason  close  this  way  her  sullen  door, 
Her  scornful  bolts  shall  baffle  me  no  more, 
Faith  hath  her  secret  wings  by  which  to  soar ; 
Faith,  bear  me  in  ! 


MYSTERIOUS   IS   THY   PRESENCE,  LORD. 

1\/rYSTERI0US  is  thy  presence.  Lord, 
•^^^     Awful  thy  power  divine  ; 
The  water  hears  thy  faintest  word, 
And  blushes  into  wine. 

The  clouds,  that  round  us  dark  and  low 
With  threatening  aspect  move. 

If  thou  dost  look  upon  them,  glow 
With  rainbow  lights  of  love. 

The  grain,  that  from  the  sower's  hand 

Is  scattered  on  the  mould, 
Soon  in  the  valleys  thick  shall  stand. 

Returned  a  thousand-fold. 

The  dews,  which  evening  skies  distil 

Around  the  creeping  vine, 
At  thy  command  arise  and  fill 

The  blood-red  grape  with  wine. 

Thus  holy  truths  around  us  lie, 

Doing  their  humble  part, 
But  wanting  the  attentive  eye 

And  the  believing  heart. 


J  34  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Thus  at  thy  holy  feast,  O  Lord, 

We  kneel,  and  we  believe 
That  that  which  thy  creative  word 

Hath  made  it  we  receive. 

Mysterious  truth,  which  human  pride 

Must  bow  to,  and  adore, 
Which  in  our  heart  of  hearts  we  hide, 

Believe,  and  ask  no  more. 

1850.  J.    S.    B.    MONSELL, 


O   THE   MYSTERY,   PASSING  WONDER. 

[to  fxeya  fxvoTTjpLov.) 

/^~\  THE  mystery,  passing  wonder, 
^^     When,  reclining  at  the  board, 
"  Eat,"  thou  saidst  to  thy  disciples, 

"  That  True  Bread  with  quickening  stored 
Drink  in  faith  the  healing  chalice 

From  a  dying  God  outpoured." 

Then  the  glorious  upper  chamber 

A  celestial  tent  was  made. 
When  the  bloodless  rite  was  offered, 

And  the  soul's  true  service  paid. 
And  the  table  of  the  feasters 

As  an  altar  stood  displayed. 

Christ  is  now  our  mighty  Pascha, 

Eaten  for  our  mystic  bread ; 
Take  we  of  his  broken  body. 

Drink  we  of  the  blood  he  shed, 
As  a  lamb  led  out  to  slaughter, 

And  for  this  world  offered. 


SOA^GS  OF  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.       135 

To  the  twelve  spake  Truth  eternal, 

To  the  branches  spake  the  vine, 
'•'  Never  more  from  this  day  forward 

Shall  I  taste  again  this  wine. 
Till  I  drink  it  in  the  kingdom 

Of  my  Father,  and  with  mine  !  " 

Thou  hast  stretched  those  hands  for  silver 
That  had  held  the  Immortal  Food ; 

With  those  lips  that  late  had  tasted 
Of  the  body  and  the  blood, 

Thou  hast  given  the  kiss,  O  Judas  ; 
Thou  hast  heard  the  woe  bestowed. 

Christ,  to  all  the  world,  gives  banquet 

Of  that  most  celestial  meat : 
Him,  albeit  with  lips  all  earthly. 

Yet  with  holy  hearts  we  greet ; 
Him,  the  sacrificial  Pascha, 

Priest  and  Victim  all  complete. 

St.  Andrew  of  Crete,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealh. 


THE    BOARD    IS    SPREAD    WITH    MEATS    DIVINE. 

^  I  ^HE  board  is  spread  with  meats  divine, 

-*-       O  worn  with  strife  and  soiled  with  sin ; 
Draw  near,  love-thirsting  soul  of  mine. 
Draw  near  and  take  thy  Saviour  in. 

I  see  the  white  prepared  board, 

I  hear  the  words  of  love  and  grace. 

But  canst  thou  deign  to  dwell,  O  Lord, 
Within  so  foul  and  soiled  a  place  ? 


136  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Fair  was  the  shrine  the  prophet  chief 
Made  for  thy  dwelHng-place  of  old, 

With  curtain  fine,  and  almond  leaf, 
And  Shittim  shaft,  and  ring  of  gold. 

More  fair  on  green  Moriah's  breast 

The  house  the  monarch  reared  for  thee, 

With  costly  gems  and  odors  drest. 
With  burning  lamp  and  molten  sea, 

With  cedar  flower  and  carven  palm. 

In  purest  gold  of  Parvaim  set. 
And  pillars  hung,  like  ships  a-calm. 

Each  spell-bound  in  its  gilded  net. 

Poor  heart !  ah,  where  thy  hallowed  fires, 

Thy  gold  of  consecrated  days, 
The  broidered  veil  of  pure  desires. 

The  cedar-scented  songs  of  praise  ? 

Ah  me  !  the  world  has  come  between 
Thy  soul  and  Christ !  the  gold  is  dim, 

The  floor  is  soiled  he  made  so  clean ; 
Is  this  a  dwelling  fit  for  him  ? 

Yet  come !  I  see  the  wine,  the  bread  ! 

That  blood  can  wash  away  thy  sin  ; 
Draw  near,  my  soul,  and  be  thou  fed. 

Nor  doubt  that  Christ  will  enter  in ! 

1867.  Cecil  F.  Alexander. 


\'m    0 — ^ >—t*F. 

SONGS  OF   THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.       1^7 

ANCIENT    SACRAMENTAL   HYMN. 

(~\  BREAD  to  pilgrims  given, 

^^     O  food  that  angels  eat, 
O  manna  sent  from  heaven. 

For  heaven-born  natures  meet ! 
Give  us,  for  thee  long  pining. 

To  eat  till  richly  filled ; 
Till,  earth's  delights  resigning, 

Our  every  wish  is  stilled. 

O  water,  life-bestowing, 

From  out  the  Saviour's  heart, 
A  fountain  purely  flowing, 

A  fount  of  love  thou  art ! 
Oh  let  us,  freely  tasting. 

Our  burning  thirst  assuage  ! 
Thy  sweetness,  never  wasting, 

Avails  from  age  to  age. 

Jesus,  this  feast  receiving. 

We  thee,  unseen,  adore ; 
Thy  faithful  word  believing. 

We  take,  and  doubt  no  more ; 
Give  us,  thou  true  and  loving. 

On  earth  to  live  in  thee ; 
Then  death  the  veil  removing. 

Thy  glorious  face  to  see. 

Ray  Palmer. 


138  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


I   HEAR   THE  WORDS   OF   LOVE. 

T  HEAR  the  words  of  love, 
-*-     I  gaze  upon  the  blood, 
I  see  the  mighty  sacrifice, 
And  I  have  peace  with  God. 

'Tis  everlasting  peace ! 

Sure  as  Jehovah's  name  ; 
'Tis  stable  as  his  steadfast  throne. 

For  evermore  the  same. 

The  clouds  may  go  and  come. 
And  storms  may  sweep  my  sky. 

This  blood-sealed  friendship  changes  not, 
The  cross  is  ever  nigh. 

My  love  is  oft-times  low. 

My  joy  still  ebbs  and  flows. 
But  peace  with  him  remains  the  same, 

No  change  Jehovah  knows. 

I  change,  he  changes  not, 

The  Christ  can  never  die  ! 
His  love,  not  mine,  the  resting-place. 

His  truth,  not  mine,  the  tie ! 

The  cross  still  stands  unchanged. 
Though  heaven  is  now  his  home ; 

The  mighty  stone  is  rolled  away, 
But  yonder  is  his  tomb ! 


1856. 


— — 0— f* 

sojvgs  of  the  holy  communion.     139 

And  yonder  is  my  peace, 

The  grave  of  all  my  woes  ! 
I  know  the  Son  of  God  has  come, 

I  know  he  died  and  rose  I 

I  know  he  liveth  now 

At  God's  right  hand  above, 
I  know  the  throne  on  which  he  sits, 

I  know  his  truth  and  love  I 

HORATIUS    BONAR. 


UNTO   THY   FEAST   WITH    HEART   DEEP 
HUSHED. 

T  INTO  thy  feast  with  heart  deep  hushed, 
^      And  lowly  bended  knee, 
As  thou  commandedst,  blessed  Lord, 
I  come,  remembering  thee. 

With  thankfulness  that  weeps  its  joy, 

I  listen  tremblingly 
Unto  the  words  of  love  divine,  — 

My  blood  was  shed  for  thee, 

My  body  given  !  —  Jesu  Lord, 

Through  all  I  fly  to  thee ; 
In  life,  in  death,  at  every  hour. 

Do  thou  remember  me. 

Grant  thou  me  food  to  stay  my  soul, 

That  I  in  thee  may  live ; 
Till  I  have  left  this  mortal  strife 

Vouchsafe  that  food  to  give. 


I40  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

When,  fought  the  fight,  and  kept  the  faith, 

Death  comes  to  set  me  free, 
Receive  me,  Jesu  Lord,  receive ! 

In  love  remember  me ! 


THIS    DO   IN   REMEMBRANCE   OF   ME. 

TTERE,  O  my  Lord,  I  see  thee  face  to  face ! 
-*-  -*■     Here  would  I  touch  and  handle  things  unseen ; 
Here  grasp  with  firmer  hand  the  eternal  grace, 
And  all  my  weariness  upon  thee  lean. 

Here  would  I  feed  upon  the  bread  of  God, 

Here  drink  with  thee  the  royal  wine  of  heaven ; 

Here  would  I  lay  aside  each  earthly  load. 
Here  taste  afresh  the  calm  of  sin  forgiven. 

This  is  the  hour  of  banquet  and  of  song. 
This  is  the  heavenly  table  spread  for  me ; 

Here  let  me  feast,  and  feasting,  still  prolong 
The  brief,  bright  hour  of  fellowship  with  thee. 

Too  soon  we  rise ;  the  symbols  disappear ; 

The  feast,  though  not  the  love,  is  passed  and  gone ; 
The  bread  and  wine  remove,  but  thou  art  here,  — 

Nearer  than  ever,  still  my  Shield  and  Sun. 

I  have  no  help  but  thine,  nor  do  I  need 

Another  arm  save  thine  to  lean  upon : 
It  is  enough,  my  Lord,  enough  indeed ! 

My  strength  is  in  thy  might,  thy  might  alone. 


SO.VGS  OF  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.       14I 

I  have  no  wisdom,  save  in  Him  who  is 
My  wisdom  and  my  teacher  both  in  one ; 

No  wisdom  can  I  lack  while  thou  art  wise, 
No  teaching  do  I  crave  save  thine  alone. 

Mine  is  the  sin,  but  thine  the  righteousness ; 

Mine  is  the  guilt,  but  thine  the  cleansing  blood ; 
Here  is  my  robe,  my  refuge,  and  my  peace, 

Thy  blood,  thy  righteousness,  O  Lord,  my  God ! 

I  know  that  deadly  evils  compass  me. 

Dark  perils  threaten,  yet  I  would  not  fear. 

Nor  poorly  shrink,  nor  feebly  turn  to  flee,  — 

Thou,  O  my  Christ,  art  buckler,  sword,  and  spear ! 

But  see,  the  Pillar-cloud  is  rising  now, 

And  moving  onward  through  the  desert  night : 

It  beckons,  and  I  follow,  for  I  know 
It  leads  me  to  the  heritage  of  light ! 

Feast  after  feast  thus  comes  and  passes  by. 
Yet  passing,  points  to  the  glad  feast  above, 

Giving  sweet  foretaste  of  the  festal  joy, 

The  Lamb's  great  bridal  feast  of  bUss  and  love. 

1S68.  HORATIUS    BONAR. 


AND    WHEN    THEY    HAD    SUNG   A    HYMN 
THEY   WENT    OUT. 

/^^ALM  lay  the  city  in  a  double  sleep 
^^     Beneath  the  Paschal  moon's  cold  silvery  light, 
That  flung  broad  shadows  o'er  the  rugged  steep 
Of  Olivet  that  night. 


m-^ — 

142  SOA^GS  OF  THE  sbUL. 

But  soon  the  calm  was  broken,  and  the  sound 

Of  strains  all  sweet  and  plaintive  filled  the  air ; 
And  deep-toned  voices,  echoing  all  around. 
Made  music  everywhere. 

The  holy  rite  is  o'er ;  the  blessed  sign 

Is  given  to  cheer  us  in  this  earthly  strife ; 
The  bread  is  broken,  and  outpoured  the  wine. 
Symbol  of  better  life. 

The  bitter  cup  of  wrath  before  him  lies  ; 

And  yet,  as  up  the  steep  they  pass  along, 
The  mighty  Victim  to  the  sacrifice. 

They  cheer  the  way  with  song. 

We  ne'er  can  know  such  sorrow  as  that  night 

Pierced  to  the  heart  the  suffering  Son  of  God ; 
And  every  earthly  sadness  is  but  light 
To  that  dark  path  he  trod ! 

And  yet  how  faint  and  feeble  rise  our  songs ; 
How  oft  we  linger  'mid  the  shadows  dim ; 
Nor  give  the  glory  that  to  him  belongs, 
In  Eucharistic  hymn ! 

Oh  for  an  echo  of  that  chant  of  praise  ; 

Oh  for  a  voice  to  sing  his  mighty  love ; 
Oh  for  a  refrain  of  the  hymns  they  raise 
In  the  bright  home  above ! 

Touch  thou  our  wayward  hearts,  and  let  them  be 

In  stronger  faith  to  thy  glad  service  given. 
Till,  o'er  the  margin  of  time's  surging  sea. 
We  sing  the  song  of  heaven  ! 

1863.  R.  H.  Baynbs. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         1 43 


SONGS   OF   THE   SECOND   ADVENT. 


MIDNIGHT   HYMN   OF   THE    EASTERN 
CHURCH. 

{From  the  Greek.) 

"DEHOLD,  the  Bridegroom  cometh  in  the  middle 

^  of  the  night, 

And  blest  is  he  whose  loins  are  girt,  whose  lamp  is 

burning  bright ; 
But  woe  to  that  dull  servant  whom  the  Master  shall 

surprise 
With  lamp  untrimmed,  unburning,  and  with  slumber 

in  his  eyes  ! 

Do  thou,  my  soul,  beware,  beware,  lest  thou  in  sleep 

sink  down, 
Lest  thou  be  given  o'er  to  death  and  lose  the  golden 

crown ; 
But  see  that  thou  be  sober,  with  watchful  eyes,  and  thus 
Cry,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  God,  have  mercy  upon  us  I  " 

That  day,  the  day  of  fear,  shall  come :  my  soul,  slack 

not  thy  toil, 
But  light  thy  lamp,  and  feed  it  well,  and  make  it  bright 

with  oil ; 


4H— 0 ♦-^IH 


if«H — 0- 


-0— Bh 


144 


SOJVGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 


Who  knowest  not  how  soon   may  sound  the  cry  at 

eventide, 
"  Behold,  the  Bridegroom  comes  !    Arise  !  go  forth  to 

meet  the  Bride." 

Beware,  my  soul !  beware,  beware,  lest  thou  in  slumber 

lie. 
And,  like  the  five,  remain  without,  and  knock,  and 

vainly  cry ; 
But  watch,  and  bear  thy  lamp  undimmed,  and  Christ 

shall  gird  thee  on 
His  own  bright  wedding  robe  of  light,  —  the  glory  of 

the  OOn.  Trans,  by  G.  Moultrie. 


THE   DAWNING. 

A  H  !  what  time  wilt  thou  come  ?  when  shall  that  cry, 
-^^^     "  The  Bridegroom's  coming  !  "  fill  the  sky  } 
Shall  it  in  the  evening  run. 
When  our  works  and  words  are  done  1 
Or  will  thy  all-surprising  light 

Break  at  midnight. 
When  either  sleep  or  some  dark  pleasure 
Possesseth  mad  man  without  measure } 
Or  shall  these  early,  fragrant  hours 

Unlock  thy  bowers. 
And  with  their  blush  of  light  descry 
Thy  locks  crowned  with  eternity } 
Indeed,  it  is  the  only  time 
That  with  thy  glory  doth  best  chime : 


e 


-0— JHhJ 


m-^ ^-is 

SOA^GS   OF   THE   SECOND  ADVENT.         1 45 

All  now  are  stirring ;  every  field 
Full  hymns  doth  yield  ; 
The  whole  creation  shakes  off  night, 
And  for  thy  shadow  looks  the  light. 

Oh,  at  what  time  soever,  thou 

Unknown  to  us,  the  heavens  wilt  bow, 

And,  with  thy  angels  in  the  van. 

Descend  to  judge  poor  careless  man, 

Grant  I  may  not  like  puddle  lie 

In  a  corrupt  security. 

Where,  if  a  traveller  water  crave. 

He  finds  it  dead,  and  in  a  grave ; 

But  as  this  restless,  vocal  spring 

All  day  and  night  doth  run  and  sing. 

And  though  here  born,  yet  is  acquainted 

Elsewhere,  and  flowing  keeps  untainted, 

So  let  me  all  my  busy  age 

In  thy  free  services  engage ; 

And  though,  while  here,  of  force  I  must 

Have  commerce  sometimes  with  poor  dust. 

And  in  my  flesh,  though  vile  and  low, 

As  this  doth  in  her  channel  flow. 

Yet  let  my  course,  my  aim,  my  love. 

And  chief  acquaintance  be  above. 

So  when  that  day  and  hour  shall  come, 
In  which  thyself  will  be  the  Sun, 
Thou'lt  find  me  drest,  and  on  my  way, 
Watching  the  break  of  thy  great  day. 

1654.  Henry  Vaughan. 


146  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


GOD   COMES!    AND    WHO   SHALL   STAND 
BEFORE    HIS    FEAR? 

('O  Ki'pfOf  epxerai.) 

/^^  OD  comes  !  and  who  shall  stand  before  his  fear  ? 
^-^    Who  bide  his  presence,  when  he  draweth  near  ? 

My  soul,  my  soul,  prepare 

To  kneel  before  him  there ! 

Haste !  weep  !  be  reconciled  to  him  before 
The  fearful  judgment  knocketh  at  the  door: 

Where,  in  the  Judge's  eyes, 

All  bare  and  naked  lies. 

Have  mercy.  Lord !  have  mercy,  Lord  !  I  cry. 
When  with  thine  angels  thou  appear'st  on  high ; 

And  each  shall  doom  inherit, 

According  to  his  merit. 

How  can  I  bear  thy  fearful  anger,  Lord  ? 
I,  that  so  often  have  transgressed  thy  word  ? 

But  put  my  sins  away. 

And  spare  me  in  that  day ! 

O  miserable  soul,  return,  lament, 
Ere  earthly  converse  end,  and  life  be  spent : 
Ere,  time  for  sorrow  o'er. 
The  Bridegroom  close  the  door ! 

Yea.  I  have  sinned,  as  no  man  sinned  beside : 
With  more  than  human  guilt  my  soul  is  dyed ; 

But  spare  and  save  me  here, 

Before  that  Day  appear ! 


SONGS  OF  THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         147 

Three  Persons  in  One  Essence  uncreate, 
On  whom,  both  Three  and  One,  our  praises  wait, 
Give  everlasting  Hght 
To  them  that  sing  thy  might ! 

826.  St.  Theodore  of  the  Studium,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


THOU   INEVITABLE   DAY. 

T^HOU  inevitable  day, 
-^       When  a  voice  to  me  shall  say, 
"  Thou  must  rise  and  come  away  ; 

"  All  thine  other  journeys  past, 
Gird  thee,  and  make  ready  fast 
For  thy  longest  and  thy  last,"  — 

Day  deep-hidden  from  our  sight 

In  impenetrable  night. 

Who  may  guess  of  thee  aright  ? 

Art  thou  distant,  art  thou  near  ? 
Wilt  thou  seem  more  dark  or  clear  ? 
Day  with  more  of  hope  or  fear  ? 

Wilt  thou  come,  not  seen  before 
Thou  art  standing  at  the  door, 
Saying,  —  light  and  life  are  o'er  ? 

Or  with  such  a  gradual  pace, 
As  shall  leave  me  largest  space 
To  regard  thee  face  to  face  ? 


%" 

148  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Shall  I  lay  my  drooping  head 

On  some  loved  lap ;  round  my  bed 

Prayer  be  made,  and  tears  be  shed  ? 

Or  at  distance  from  mine  own, 
Name  and  kin  alike  unknown, 
Make  my  solitary  moan  ? 

Will  there  yet  be  things  to  leave. 
Hearts  to  which  this  heart  must  cleave. 
From  which,  parting,  it  must  grieve  ? 

Or  shall  life's  best  ties  be  o'er, 
And  all  loved  things  gone  before 
To  that  other  happier  shore  ? 

Shall  I  gently  fall  on  sleep, 
Death,  like  slumber,  o'er  me  creep. 
Like  a  slumber  sweet  and  deep  ? 

Or  the  soul  long  strive  in  vain 
To  get  free,  with  toil  and  pain. 
From  its  half -divided  chain  ? 

Little  skills  it  where  or  how, 
If  thou  comest  then  or  now, 
With  a  smooth  or  angry  brow. 

Come  thou  must,  and  we  must  die : 
Jesus,  Saviour,  stand  thou  by, 
When  that  last  sleep  seals  our  eye. 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


fH — *>- 


_ 0 — I* 

SOiVGS  OF  THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         149 

THE  HARVEST   IS   THE  END   OF  THE  WORLD. 

TN  his  wide  field  walks  the  Master, 
-*■     In  his  fair  fields  ripe  for  harvest, 
Where  the  evening  sun  shines  slant-wise, 
On  the  rich  ears  heavy  bending : 

Saith  the  Master,  "  It  is  time." 
Though  no  leaf  shows  brown  decadence, 
And  September's  nightly  frost-bite 
Only  reddens  the  horizon, 
Saith  the  Master,  the  wise  Master, 

"  It  is  time." 

Lo,  he  looks  I     That  look  compelling, 
Brings  his  laborers  to  the  harvest ; 
Quick  they  gather,  as,  in  autumn. 
Passage-birds  in  cloudy  eddies 

Drop  upon  the  seaside  fields  ; 
White  wings  have  they,  and  white  raiment, 
White  feet  shod  with  swift  obedience, 
Each  lays  down  his  golden  palm-branch. 
And  uprears  his  sickle  shining, 

"  Speak,  O  Master :  is  it  time  ?  " 

O'er  the  field  the  servants  hasten. 
When  the  full-stored  ears  droop  downwards. 
Humble  with  their  weight  of  harvest ; 
Where  the  empty  ears  wave  upward. 
And  the  gay  tares  flaunt  in  rows : 


ISO  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

But  the  sickles,  the  sharp  sickles, 
Flash  new  dawn  at  their  appearing  : 
Songs  are  heard  in  earth  and  heaven, 
For  the  reapers  are  the  angels, 
And  it  is  the  harvest-time. 

O  Great  Master,  are  thy  footsteps 
Even  now  upon  the  mountains  ? 
Art  thou  walking  in  thy  wheat-field  ? 
Are  the  snowy-winged  reapers 

Gathering  in  the  silent  air  ? 
Are  thy  signs  abroad,  the  glowing 
Of  the  distant  sky,  blood-reddened, 
And  the  near  fields  trodden,  blighted, 
Choked  by  gaudy  tares  triumphant  ? 

Sure  it  must  be  harvest-time ! 

Who  shall  know  the  Master's  coming  ? 
Whether  it  be  at  dawn  or  sunset. 
When  night-dews  weigh  down  the  wheat-ears, 
Or  while  noon  rides  high  in  heaven. 

Sleeping  lies  the  yellow-field  ? 
Only  may  thy  voice,  Good  Master, 
Peal  above  the  reapers'  chorus. 
And  dull  sound  of  sheaves  slow  falling, 
"  Gather  all  into  my  garner, 

For  it  is  my  harvest-time !  " 

i8g8.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch. 


r*l— 0 0—\^. 

SOA'GS   OF   THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         151 

LATE,   LATE,    SO   LATE! 

T    ATE,  late,  so  late  !  and  dark  the  night  and  chill ! 
•*— ^     Late,  late,  so  late  !  but  we  can  enter  still.  « 

Too  late,  too  late !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

No  light  had  we  :  for  that  we  do  repent ; 
And,  learning  this,  the  Bridegroom  will  relent. 
Too  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

No  light :  so  late  !  and  dark  and  chill  the  night ! 
Oh  let  us  in,  that  we  may  find  the  light ! 
Too  late,  too  late !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

Have  we  not  heard  the  Bridegroom  is  so  sweet } 
Oh  let  us  in,  though  late,  to  kiss  his  feet ! 
No,  no !  too  late  !   ye  cannot  enter  now. 

1859.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


THAT  GREAT  DAY  OF  WRATH  AND   TERROR.* 
{Apparebit  repetitina  ?nagna  Dies  Domini.^ 

^  I  ^HAT  great  Day  of  wrath  and  terror, 
-■-       That  last  Day  of  woe  and  doom, 
Like  a  thief  at  darkest  midnight, 
On  the  sons  of  men  shall  come : 


*  In  regard  to  this  hymn,  Dr.  Neale  remarks:  "This  rugged  but  grand  judg- 
ment-hymn is  at  least  as  early  as  the  seventh  century,  because  quoted  by  the  Vener- 
able Bede.  It  manifestly  contains  the  germ  of  the  Dies  Irae,  to  which,  however 
inferior  in  lyric  fervor  and  effect,  it  scarcely  yields  in  devotion  and  simple  realization  of 
its  subject."  —  Ed. 


152  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

When  the  pride  and  pomp  of  ages 

All  shall  utterly  have  passed, 

And  they  stand  in  anguish,  owning 

That  the  end  is  here  at  last. 

Then  the  trumpet's  pealing  clangor. 

Through  the  earth's  four  quarters  spread, 

Waxing  loud,  and  ever  louder. 

Shall  convoke  the  quick  and  dead ; 

And  the  King  of  heavenly  glory 

Shall  assume  his  throne  on  high. 

And  the  cohorts  of  his  angels 

Shall  be  near  him  in  the  sky. 

Then  the  sun  shall  turn  to  darkness, 

And  the  moon  be  red  as  blood ; 

And  the  stars  shall  fall  from  heaven, 

Whelmed  beneath  destruction's  flood. 

Flame,  and  fire,  and  desolation 

At  the  Judge's  feet  shall  go  : 

Earth,  and  sea,  and  all  abysses 

Shall  his  mighty  sentence  know. 


Then  the  elect  upon  the  right  hand 
Of  the  Lord  shall  stand  around; 
But,  like  goats,  the  evil-doers 
Shall  upon  the  left  be  found. 
"  Come,  ye  blessed,  take  the  kingdom," 
Shall  be  there  the  King's  award. 
*'  Which  for  you,  before  the  world  was, 
Of  my  Father  was  prepared  : 
I  was  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me ; 
Poor,  and  ye  relieved  me :  hence, 


4H— 0- 


SONGS  OF  THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         153 

Take  the  riches  of  my  glory 

For  your  endless  recompense." 

Then  the  righteous  shall  make  question  : 

"  When  have  we  beheld  thee  poor, 

Lord  of  glory  ?     When  relieved  thee, 

Lying  needy  at  our  door  ?  " 

Whom  the  blessed  King  shall  answer : 

"  When  ye  showed  your  charity, 

Giving  bread  and  home  and  raiment. 

What  ye  did  was  done  to  me." 

In  like  manner,  to  the  left  hand, 

That  most  righteous  Judge  shall  say, 

'*  Go,  ye  cursed,  to  Gehenna, 

And  the  fire  that  is  for  aye : 

For  in  prison  ye  came  not  nigh  me ; 

Poor,  ye  pitied  not  my  lot ; 

Naked,  ye  have  never  clothed  me ; 

Sick,  ye  visited  me  not." 

They  shall  say :  "  O  Christ,  when  saw  we 

That  thou  calledst  for  our  aid. 

And  in  prison,  or  sick  or  hungry, 

To  relieve  have  we  delayed  "i  " 

Whom  again  the  Judge  shall  answer : 

*'  Since  ye  never  cast  your  eyes 

On  the  sick  and  poor  and  needy. 

It  was  me  ye  did  despise." 


I^ackward,  backward,  at  the  sentence, 
To  Gehenna  they  shall  fly, 
Where  the  flame  is  never-ending, 
Where  the  worm  can  never  die ; 


-0 — H^ 


54  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Where  are  Satan  and  his  angels 
In  profoundest  dungeon  bound ; 
Where  are  chains  and  lamentation, 
Where  are  quenchless  flames  around. 
But  the  righteous,  upward  soaring, 
To  the  heavenly  land  shall  go. 
Midst  the  cohorts  of  the  angels, 
Where  is  joy  for  evermo. 
To  Jerusalem,  exulting, 
They  with  shouts  shall  enter  in  ; 
That  true  "  sight  of  peace  "  and  glory 
That  sets  free  from  grief  and  sin. 
Christ  shall  they  behold  for  ever, 
Seated  at  the  Father's  hand, 
As  in  beatific  vision 
His  elect  before  him  stand. 


Wherefore,  man,  while  yet  thou  mayest, 
From  the  dragon's  malice  fly : 
Give  thy  bread  to  feed  the  hungry. 
If  thou  seek'st  to  win  the  sky ; 
Let  thy  loins  be  straitly  girded. 
Life  be  pure,  and  heart  be  right. 
At  the  coming  of  the  Bridegroom, 
That  thy  lamp  may  glitter  bright. 

Trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealh. 


•O — B* 


m-^ — 0— iSi 

SOJVGS  OF  THE  SECOND  ADVENT.        1 55 

DAY      OF      WRATH! 
{Dies  ircB^  Dies  ilia  /) 

I. 

"T^AY  of  wrath  !  of  days  that  Day ! 

-*-^     Earth  in  flames  shall  pass  away, 
Heathen  seers  with  prophets  say. 

II. 
What  swift  terrors  then  shall  fall, 
When  descends  the  Judge  of  all, 
Every  action  to  recall. 

III. 
Hark  !  the  trump,  with  wondrous  tone, 
Wakes  the  graves  with  nations  gone. 
Forcing  all  before  the  Throne. 

IV. 

Death  shall  die,  fair  Nature  too. 
When  the  creature  ris'n  anew 
Answers  to  his  God's  review. 

V. 

He  the  fatal  scroll  shall  spread. 
Writ  with  all  things  done  or  said, 
Thence  to  judge  th'  awakened  dead. 

VI. 

Lo,  he  takes  his  seat  of  Hght ! 
All  that's  dark  shall  leap  to  sight, 
Guilt  the  sword  of  vengeance  smite. 


156  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

VII. 
What  shall  I,  then,  wretched  plead  ? 
Who  will  mediate  in  my  need, 
When  the  just  shall  scarce  succeed  ? 

VIII. 

King  majestic  !     Sovereign  dread  ! 
Saving  all  for  whom  he  bled, 
Save  thou  me,  Salvation's  head ! 

IX. 

Holy  Jesus !  priceless  stay  I 
Think  !  for  me  thy  bleeding  way  ! 
Lose  me  not  upon  that  Day. 

X. 

Faint  and  weary,  thou  hast  sought ; 
By  the  cross  my  crown  hast  bought ; 
Can  such  anguish  be  for  naught } 

XI. 

O  avenging  Judge  severe, 
Grant  remission  full  and  clear, 
Ere  th'  accounting  day  appear. 

XII. 

Like  a  guilty  thing  I  moan. 
Flushed  my  cheek,  my  sins  I  own, 
Hear,  O  God,  thy  suppUant's  groan ! 

XIII. 

Magdalen  found  grace  with  thee, 

So  the  thief  upon  the  tree  ; 

Hope,  too,  thou  hast  breathed  in  me. 


-*— fte 


Ltpl      « — ^— TW 

SO.VGS  OF   THE  SECOND  ADVENT.         IS7 
XIV. 


Worthless  are  my  vows,  I  know ; 
Yet,  dear  Lord,  thy  mercy  show. 
Lest  I  sink  in  endless  woe. 

XV. 

From  the  goats  my  lot  divide, 
With  thy  lambs  a  place  provide, 
On  thy  right  and  near  thy  side. 

XVI. 

When  th'  accursed  sink  in  shame, 
Given  to  tormenting  flame, 
With  thy  blessed  write  my  name. 

XVII. 

Bowed  to  earth,  I  strive  in  prayer, 
Heart  like  cinders,  see,  I  bear, 
Its  last  throbbing  be  thy  care ! 

XVIII. 

Ah !  that  Day  of  burning  tears  ! 
When  from  ashes  reappears 
Man  all  guilt,  his  doom  to  bear, 
Spare  him,  God  !  in  mercy  spare ! 

1250.  Thomas  of  Celano,  trans,  by  Edward  Slosson. 


158  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

t 

LO!     THE   DAY,  THE   DAY   OF   LIFE. 

(Dies  ilia,  dies  vitcs.') 

T    O  !  the  Day,  the  Day  of  Life, 
-"-^     Day  of  unimagined  Hght, 
Day  when  Death  itself  shall  die, 
And  there  shall  be  no  more  night. 

Steadily  that  Day  approacheth, 
When  the  just  shall  find  their  rest. 

When  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
And  the  patient  reign  most  blest. 

See  the  King  desired  for  ages, 

By  the  just  expected  long, 
Long  implored,  at  length  he  hasteth, 

Cometh  with  salvation  strong. 

Oh,  how  past  all  utt'rance  happy. 

Sweet,  and  joyful  it  will  be, 
When  they  who,  unseen,  have  loved  hin;, 

Jesus  face  to  face  shall  see ! 

In  that  Day,  how  good  and  pleasant 
This  poor  world  to  have  despised ! 

And  how  mournful,  and  how  bitter. 
Dear  that  lost  world  to  have  prized ! 

Blessed,  then,  earth's  patient  mourners, 
Who  for  Christ  have  toiled  and  died, 

Driven  by  the  world's  rough  pressure 
In  those  mansions  to  abide ! 


SONGS   OF  THE   SECOND  ADVENT.  159 

There  shall  be  no  sighs  or  weeping, 

Not  a  shade  of  doubt  or  fear, 
No  old  age,  no  want  or  sorrow, 

Nothing  sick  or  lacking  there. 

There  the  peace  will  be  unbroken. 

Deep  and  solemn  joy  be  shed, 
Youth  in  fadeless  flower  and  freshness, 

And  salvation  perfected. 

What  will  be  the  bliss  and  rapture 
None  can  dream,  and  none  can  tell. 

There  to  reign  among  the  angels, 
In  that  heavenly  home  to  dwell. 

To  those  realms,  just  Judge,  oh  call  me, 

Deign  to  open  that  blest  gate, 
Thou  whom,  seeking,  looking,  longing, 

I,  with  eager  hope,  await ! 

i2th  century.  Trans,  by  Mrs.  Charles. 


<H— »- 


SONGS    OF    THE    CROSS. 


II 


ii±-^ 


SONGS    OF    THE    CROSS. 


■*<.>9<c 


HYMN   FOR   PASSION   WEEK. 

npHERE  is  a  rapturous  movement,  a  green  growing 

-■-       Among  the  hills  and  valleys  once  again, 
And  silent  rivers  of  delight  are  flowing 
Into  the  hearts  of  men. 

There  is  a  purple  weaving  on  the  heather, 

Night  drops  down  starry  gold  upon  the  furze. 
Wild  rivers  and  wild  birds  sing  songs  together, 
Dead  nature  breathes  and  stirs. 

Is  this  the  season  when  our  hearts  should  follow 

The  Man  of  Sorrows  to  the  hill  of  scorn  ? 
Must  not  our  pilgrim  grief  be  scant  and  hollow 
On  such  a  sunny  morn  ? 

Will  not  the  silver  trumpet  of  the  river 

Wind  us  to  gladsomeness  against  our  will. 
The  subtle  eloquence  of  sunlight  shiver 
What  sadness  haunts  us  still  ? 

If  I  might  choose,  those  notes  should  all  be  duller, 

That  silver  trump  should  fail  in  Passion  Week ; 
The  mountain-crowning  sky  wear  one  pale  color, 
Pale  as  my  Saviour's  cheek. 


1 64  SOJVGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

And  day  and  night  there  should  be  one  slow  raining, 

With  mournful  plash,  upon  the  moor  and  moss. 
And  on  the  hill  one  tree  its  bare  arms  straining, 
Bare  as  my  Saviour's  cross. 

Nay  !   if  thy  heart  were  sorrowful  exceeding, 

Its  pulses  big  with  that  divinest  woe. 
These  natural  things  would  only  set  it  bleeding 
To  think  it  could  be  so ; 

To  think  that  guilty  and  degraded  Nature 
Could  look  as  joyful  as  she  looketh  now, 
When  the  warm  blood  has  dropped  from  her  Creator 
Upon  her  branded  brow. 

1857.  William  Alexander. 


WHEN   GOD   CAME   DOWN   FROM   HEAVEN. 

WHEN  God  came  down  from  heaven,  the  living 
God, 
What  signs  and  wonders  marked  his  stately  way } 
Brake  out  the  winds  in  music  where  he  trod  ? 
Shone  o'er  the  heavens  a  brighter,  softer  day  .-* 

The  dumb  began  to  speak,  the  blind  to  see, 

And  the  lame  leaped,  and  pain  and  paleness  fled  ; 

The  mourner's  sunken  eye  grew  bright  with  glee, 
And  from  the  tomb  awoke  the  wondering  dead. 

When  God  went  back  to  heaven,  the  living  God, 
Rode  he  the  heavens  upon  a  fiery  car  ? 

Waved  seraph  wings  along  his  glorious  road } 

Stood  still  to  wonder  each  bright  wandering  star? 


[.ip.l.    ■» ^-— W: 

6'6>A^6^6'  OF  THE   CROSS.  1 65 

Upon  the  cross  he  hung,  and  bowed  his  head, 

And  prayed  for  them  that  smote,  and  them  that 
curst ; 

And  drop  by  drop  his  slow  Ufe-blood  was  shed. 
And  his  last  hour  of  suffering  was  his  worst  I 

1822.  Dean  Milman. 


WHEN    I    SURVEY   THE   WONDROUS    CROSS. 

"\T  7HEN  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross 

^  ^       On  which  the  Prince  of  Glory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss. 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

Forbid  it,  Lord,  that  I  should  boast, 
Save  in  the  death  of  Christ  my  God ! 

All  the  vain  things  that  charm  me  most, 
I  sacrifice  them  to  his  blood. 

See,  from  his  head,  his  hands,  his  feet, 
Sorrow  and  love  flow  mingled  down  I 

Did  e'er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet, 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  t 

His  dying  crimson,  like  a  robe. 
Spreads  o'er  his  body  on  the  tree ; 

Then  am  I  dead  to  all  the  globe. 
And  all  the  globe  is  dead  to  me. 

Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small ; 

Love  so  amazing,  so  divine. 

Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all. 

1709.  Isaac  Watts. 


-«— flh 


166  SOA'GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 


O   SOUL   OF  JESUS,    SICK   TO   DEATH! 

/^  SOUL  of  Jesus,  sick  to  death  ! 
-^     Thy  blood  and  prayer  together  plead ; 
My  sins  have  bowed  thee  to  the  ground, 
As  the  storm  bows  the  feeble  reed. 

Midnight !  and  still  the  oppressive  load 
Upon  thy  tortured  heart  doth  lie  ; 

Still  the  abhorred  procession  winds 
Before  thy  spirit's  quailing  eye. 

Deep  waters  have  come  in,  O  Lord  1 

All  darkly  on  thy  human  soul ; 
And  clouds  of  supernatural  gloom 

Around  thee  are  allowed  to  roll. 

The  weight  of  the  eternal  wrath 

Drives  over  thee  with  pressure  dread  ; 

And,  forced  upon  the  olive  roots. 

In  death-like  sadness  droops  thy  head. 

And  thou  hast  struggled  with  it.  Lord ! 

Even  to  the  limit  of  thy  strength ; 
While  hours,  whose  minutes  are  as  years, 

Slowly  fulfil  their  weary  length. 

And  thou  hast  shuddered  at  each  act. 
And  shrunk  with  an  astonished  fear, 

As  if  thou  couldst  not  bear  to  see 
The  loathsomeness  of  sin  so  near. 


^^r— 0- 


r«J+— ^ 


SONGS  OF  THE   CROSS.  1 6/ 

Sin,  and  the  Father's  anger !  they 

Have  made  thy  lower  nature  faint ; 
All,  save  the  love  within  thy  heart. 

Seems  for  the  moment  to  be  spent. 

My  God  !  my  God  !  and  can  it  be 

That  I  should  sin  so  lightly  now, 
And  think  no  more  of  evil  thoughts 

Than  of  the  wind  that  waves  the  bough  ? 

I  sin  ;  and  heaven  and  earth  go  round, 

As  if  no  dreadful  deed  were  done, 
As  if  God's  blood  had  never  flowed 

To  hinder  sin  or  to  atone. 

I  walk  the  earth  with  lightsome  step, 
Smile  at  the  sunshine,  breathe  the  air, 

Do  my  own  will,  nor  ever  heed 
Gethsemane  and  thy  long  prayer. 

Shall  it  be  alway  thus,  O  Lord  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  work  this  hour  in  me 
The  grace  thy  passion  merited. 

Hatred  of  self  and  love  of  thee.? 

Oh,  by  the  pains  of  thy  pure  love. 

Grant  me  the  gift  of  holy  fear ; 
And,  by  thy  death,  thy  bloody  sweat. 

Oh  wash  my  guilty  conscience  clear ! 

Even  when  tempted,  make  me  see 

Beneath  the  olives'  moon-pierced  shade 

My  God,  alone,  outstretched,  and  bruised, 
And  bleeding  on  the  earth  he  made ! 


1 68  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

And  make  me  feel  it  was  my  sin, 
As  though  no  other  sins  there  were, 

That  was  to  him  who  bears  the  world 
A  load  that  he  could  scarcely  bear. 

1849.  F.  W.  Faber. 


LONG   BARREN. 

nPHOU  who  didst  hang  upon  a  barren  tree, 
-*■       My  God,  for  me  ; 
Though  I  till  now  be  barren,  now  at  length, 
Lord,  give  me  strength 
To  bring  forth  fruit  for  thee ! 

Thou  who  didst  bear  for  me  the  crown  of  thorn. 

Spitting  and  scorn ; 
Though  I  till  now  have  put  forth  thorns,  yet  now 
Strengthen  me  thou, 
That  better  fruit  be  borne. 

Thou  Rose  of  Sharon,  Cedar  of  broad  roots, 

Vine  of  sweet  fruits. 
Thou  Lily  of  the  vale,  with  fadeless  leaf, 

Of  thousands  chief. 
Feed  thou  my  feeble  shoots  ! 

i866.  Christina  G.  Rosshtti. 


SONGS  OF   THE   CROSS.  T69 


I    BORE   WITH   THEE   LONG,  WEARY   DAYS. 

T  BORE  with  thee  long  weary  days  and  nights, 

-*-     Through  many  pangs   of   heart,  through    many 

tears ; 
I  bore  with  thee,  thy  hardness,  coldness,  slights, 
For  three  and  thirty  years. 

Who  else  had  dared  for  thee  what  I  have  dared  ? 

I  plunged  the  depth  most  deep  from  bliss  above  ; 
I  not  my  flesh,  I  not  my  spirit  spared  : 
Give  thou  me  love  for  love. 

For  thee  I  thirsted  in  the  daily  drouth. 

For  thee  I  trembled  in  the  nightly  frost  : 
Much  sweeter  thou  than  honey  to  my  mouth  ; 
Why  wilt  thou  still  be  lost  ? 

I  bore  thee  on  my  shoulders,  and  rejoiced  : 

Men  only  marked  upon  my  shoulders  borne 
The  branding  cross  ;  and  shouted  hungry-voiced, 
Or  wagged  their  heads  in  scorn. 

Thee  did  nails  grave  upon  my  hands  ;  thy  name 

Did  thorns  for  frontlets  stamp  between  mine  eyes : 
I,  Holy  One,  put  on  thy  guilt  and  shame  ; 
I,  God,  Priest,  Sacrifice. 

A  thief  upon  my  right  hand  and  my  left ; 

Six  hours  alone,  athirst,  in  misery : 
At  length,  in  death,  one  smote  my  heart,  and  cleft 
A  hiding-place  for  thee. 


H»iP-0- 


m.  » ^— ±* 

170  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Nailed  to  the  racking  cross,  than  bed  of  down 

More  dear,  whereon  to  stretch  myself  and  sleep : 
So  did  I  win  a  kingdom,  —  share  my  crown  ; 
A  harvest,  —  come  and  reap. 

1866.  Christina  Rossetti. 


THE   CRUCIFIXION. 

OUNLIGHT  upon  Judea's  hills, 
^^  And  on  the  waves  of  Galilee, 
On  Jordan's  stream,  and  on  the  rills 

That  feed  the  dead  and  sleeping  sea! 
Most  freshly  from  the  greenwood  springs 
The  light  breeze  on  its  scented  wings ; 
And  gayly  quiver  in  the  sun 
The  cedar-tops  of  Lebanon ! 

A  few  more  hours,  a  change  hath  come ! 

The  sky  is  dark  without  a  cloud  ! 
The  shouts  of  wrath  and  joy  are  dumb. 

And  proud  knees  unto  earth  are  bowed ; 
A  change  is  on  the  hill  of  death, 
The  helmed  watchers  pant  for  breath. 
And  turn,  with  wild  and  maniac  eyes. 
From  the  dark  scene  of  sacrifice ! 

That  sacrifice  !  the  death  of  Him  ! 

The  High  and  ever  Holy  One ! 
Well  may  the  conscious  heavens  grow  dim, 

And  blacken  the  beholding  sun  ! 


. 0- 

SONGS  OF  THE   CROSS.  17 1 

The  wonted  light  hath  fled  away, 
Night  settles  on  the  middle  day, 
And  earthquake,  from  his  caverned  bed, 
Is  waking  with  a  thrill  of  dread. 

The  dead  are  waking  underneath  ! 

Their  prison  door  is  rent  away  ! 
And,  ghastly  with  the  seal  of  death. 

They  wander  in  the  eye  of  day ! 
The  temple  of  the  cherubim, 
The  house  of  God,  is  cold  and  dim ; 
A  curse  is  on  its  trembling  walls, 
Its  mighty  veil  asunder  falls  ! 

Well  may  the  cavern  depths  of  earth 
Be  shaken,  and  her  mountains  nod  ; 

Well  may  the  sheeted  dead  come  forth 
To  gaze  upon  a  suffering  God ; 

Well  may  the  temple  shrine  grow  dim, 

And  shadows  veil  the  cherubim. 

When  he,  the  chosen  one  of  heaven, 

A  sacrifice  for  guilt  is  given  ! 

And  shall  the  sinful  heart  alone 

Behold  unmoved  the  atoning  hour, 
When  Nature  trembles  on  her  throne. 

And  Death  resigns  his  iron  power  ? 
Oh  shall  the  heart,  whose  sinfulness 
Gave  keenness  to  his  sore  distress. 
And  added  to  his  tears  of  blood. 
Refuse  its  trembling  gratitude  ? 

1846.  John  G.  Whittier. 


172  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


THE  HOURS   OF  THE   PASSION  OF  OUR  LORD 
JESUS    CHRIST. 

At  Prime. 
{Tu  qui  velatus  facie.') 

/^  THOU  who,  though  with  veiled  face, 
^^     Wast  still  the  sun  of  righteousness ; 
With  fainting  limbs  and  footsteps  slow, 
Smitten  with  many  a  scornful  blow, — 

With  hearts  intent  we  thee  entreat. 
Extend  to  us  thy  mercy  sweet ; 
And  for  thy  loving  kindness'  sake, 
Let  us  thy  glory  all  partake. 

Honor  and  praise  to  Christ  be  paid, 
Once  sold  and  causelessly  betrayed  ; 
Who,  for  his  people,  willingly 
Bore  death  upon  the  shameful  tree. 

At  Terce. 
{Hora  qui  ductus  tertia.) 

Thou  who  at  the  third  hour  wast  led, 
O  Christ,  to  meet  that  torture  dread. 
Who,  on  thy  shoulder,  didst  for  us, 
For  us  unhappy,  bear  the  cross. 

Make  us  so  full  of  love  to  thee, 
And  let  our  lives  so  holy  be. 
That  we  may  win  thy  tranquil  rest, 
And  in  the  heavenly  land  be  blest. 


SONGS  OF  THE   CROSS.  173 

At  Sext. 

{Crucei7i  pro  nobis  subiit^ 

For  us  the  bitter  cross  he  bore, 
And,  stretched  thereon,  was  parched  with  thirst, 
Jesus,  whose  sacred  hands  were  pierced, 
Whose  sacred  feet  with  nails  they  tore. 

Honor  and  blessing  we  will  bring 
To  him,  the  Lord,  the  crucified  ; 
Who,  by  his  sufferings  as  he  died. 
Has  ransomed  us  from  perishing. 

At  Nones. 
{Beata  Christi  passio.^ 

Christ's  blessed  passion  set  us  free, 
His  death  our  liberation  be. 
Since  endless  joys  are  won  by  this, — 
For  us,  eternal,  heavenly  bliss. 

Glory  to  Christ,  the  Lord,  be  sung, 
Who,  as  upon  the  cross  he  hung, 
With  that  great  cry  gave  up  the  ghost, 
Saving  a  world  undone  and  lost. 

At  Compline. 
{Qui  jacuisti  mortuus^ 

O  thou,  who  layedst  dead,  the  King, 
The  spotless  King,  in  peace  at  last, 
Grant  us  in  peace  in  thee  to  rest, 
And  evermore  thy  praise  to  sing. 


1/4  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Oh  succor  us,  our  Lord,  and  bless 
Whom  thou  redeemedst  with  thy  blood, 
And  grant  us,  in  thy  blest  abode. 
Sweet  joys  of  deep,  eternal  peace. 

i5lh  century.  Trans,  by  Mrs.  Charles. 


HYSSOP. 

T  THIRST  !  the  blessed  Saviour  said, 
-■-     Ere  on  the  cross  he  bowed  his  head, 

And  gave  himself  to  God. 
The  vinegar  was  pressed  in  vain, 
And  the  full  cup  of  woe  and  pain 

Now  blushed  with  his  own  blood. 

Hail,  Holy  Chalice !  let  my  soul 
Bathe  in  thy  depths  without  control, 

Filled  from  the  Heavenly  Vine  I 
Let  every  thought  be  fixed  on  thee, 
Thine  overwhelming  agony. 

Until  thy  love  be  mine  ! 

I  thirst  that  bitterness  to  share. 

Which  Christ  would  deign  for  me  to  bear, 

The  wormwood  and  the  gall, 
The  pointing  finger  and  the  leer. 
The  wagging  head,  the  loathsome  sneer, 

And  the  reproach  of  all. 

I  thirst  for  what  my  Lord  can  give, 
That  life  which  he  would  have  me  live 
Devoted  to  his  will ; 


rtH— 0- 


SONGS  OF   THE   CROSS.  1/5 

Through  cloud  or  sunshine,  calm  or  storm, 
In  scenes  of  every  shade  or  form, 
Obedient  to  him  still. 

I  thirst  to  have  a  soul  within, 
Divided  from  the  smallest  sin. 

In  word  or  deed  or  mind ; 
A  heart  to  soar  on  sacred  wings 
Above  all  sublunary  things, 

And  leave  the  world  behind. 

I  thirst  to  taste  that  precious  stream 
Which  only  can  my  guilt  redeem. 

And  wash  me  white  as  snow, 
Poured  from  that  side,  those  hands  and  feet, 
Whence  fountains  of  salvation  sweet 

In  ceaseless  mercy  flow. 

I  thirst  to  see  that  glorious  brow. 

Once  pierced  with  thorns  for  me,  but  now 

Crowned  as  with  many  crowns  ; 
Where  the  perpetual  hymn  of  praise 
Rises  above  all  other  lays. 

All  other  music  drowns. 

I  thirst  to  have  his  mercy  known 
From  shore  to  shore,  from  zone  to  zone, 

His  tears  and  tenderness ; 
Until  the  universe  shall  sigh 
That  its  dear  Lord  should  ever  die, 

Although  that  death  we  bless. 


_ 0— W: 

1/6  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  thirst  to  hail  the  countless  throng 
Of  those  who  to  that  world  belong, 

Where  pain  afflicts  no  more  ; 
Where  every  tear  is  wiped  away, 
And,  through  a  cloudless,  nightless  day. 

All  saints  the  Lamb  adore. 

1848.  Matthew  Bridges. 


I      THIRST! 

TPVOWN  through  the  hushed  and  thickening  air, 
^-^     And  gathering  gloom  of  earth's  eclipse, 
That  weary  word,  that  half -breathed  prayer. 
Hath  fallen  at  last  from  Jesus'  lips. 

For  three  long  hours  upreared  to  die. 

For  three  long  hours  each  sinew  straining. 

He  hath  not  breathed  as  yet  one  sigh 
Could  tell  of  nature's  self-complaining. 

I  thirst !     The  word  is  full  of  pain. 

Of  fever-rack,  of  human  anguish, 
Of  gaping  wounds  that  life-blood  drain. 

And  leave  the  heart  to  faint  and  languish. 

And  yet  not  this,  not  this  alone. 

Hath  caused  that  piteous,  sad  outburst : 

Not  human  pain  hath  made  that  moan. 
Not  human  want  that  mystic  thirst. 


^M— ^- 


o—f* 

SOJVGS  OF  THE   CROSS.  I? 7 

Thirst  to  see  Justice  satisfied ; 

Thirst  to  save  sinners  tempest-tost ; 
Thirst  to  pour  out  Love's  boundless  tide 

On  souls  that  all  unloved  were  lost ;  — 

This  was  thy  thirst  and  this  thy  pain, 
This  the  deep  grief  thy  bosom  nursed: 

Say,  Jesus,  say  that  word  again ; 
Still  for  thy  creatures,  Jesus  thirst  I 

Thirst,  that  at  last  our  hearts  may  give 

Torrents  of  love  that  thirst  to  slake  ; 
Thirst,  that  we  too  may  thirsting  live. 

Thirsting  to  die  for  thy  sweet  sake. 

Thirsting  to  see  thee  face  to  face ; 

Thirsting  these  earthly  bonds  to  sever ; 
Thirsting  for  that  last,  long  embrace 

In  which  such  thirst  is  quenched  for  ever ! 

C.  M.  Cadell. 


O   CROSS,  THAT    ONLY  KNOWEST  THE  WOES. 

{O  crux  qui  sola  languentes.^ 

(~\  CROSS,  that  only  knowest  the  woes 
^^     He  suffered  erst  who  hung  on  thee, 
Speak  to  our  hearts  of  those  deep  throes, 
Those  broken  words,  that  agony ! 

Sharp  were  the  nails  that  ruthless  bound 
His  fainting  form  in  thine  embrace ; 

The  thorns  about  his  temples  wound 
Forbade  him  e'en  that  resting-place. 

12 


7^  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

O  tearful  woe  !  the  Lord  of  Life 

Upon  thy  breast  contends  with  death  ; 

And,  victor  in  the  mortal  strife, 

Yet  yielded  up  his  last,  faint  breath. 

O  holy  Cross,  by  thee  we  live. 
And  at  thy  foot  our  life  we  lay  ; 

Tribunal  whence  our  Lord  shall  give 
His  judgment,  in  that  bitter  Day. 

Give  us,  O  Lord,  to  die  with  thee  ; 

With  thee,  fell  death  to  rise  above  • 
Despising  earthly  vanity. 

To  fix  our  hearts  on  joys  above. 

From  the  Parisian  Breviary. 


STOOD  THE  MOURNFUL  MOTHER  WEEPING. 

{^Stabat  Mate}'  Dolorosa.') 

OTOOD  the  mournful  Mother  weeping, 
^^     By  the  cross  her  vigil  keeping  ; 
While  her  Jesus  hung  thereon  : 
Through  her  heart,  in  sorrow  moaning, 
With  him  grieving,  for  him  groaning. 

Through  that  heart  the  sword  hath  gone. 

Oh  how  sad  and  sore  distress^ 
Was  she,  the  for  ever  blessed, 

Mother  of  the  Undefiled  ! 
She  who  wept,  and  mourned,  and  trembled, 
When  she  saw  such  pains  assembled 

Round  about  the  Holy  Child. 


F*t— 0^ 0— +* 

SOXGS  OF   THE   CROSS.  179 

Who  that  sees  Christ's  Mother  bending 
'Neath  his  load  of  sorrow,  rending 

Her  sad  soul  in  woe  so  deep  ; 
Who  that  sees  that  pious  Mother 
With  him  weeping,  could  do  other 

Than,  himself  afflicted,  weep  ? 

For  the  sins  of  each  offender, 
Sinless  soul,  and  body  tender. 

Sees  she  'neath  the  cruel  rod  : 
Sees  her  own  sweet  Son,  her  only, 
Dying,  desolate,  and  lonely, 

Pouring  out  his  soul  to  God. 

Jesu  !  Fount  of  love  !  thee  loving, 
And  my  soul  thy  sorrow  moving. 

Make  me  watch  and  weep  with  thee  : 
As  my  God  and  Christ  thee  knowing. 
Let  my  loving  heart  be  glowing 

With  a  holy  sympathy. 

Holy  Father  !  let  affliction 
For  thy  dear  Son's  crucifixion 

Pierce  my  heart ;  and  grant  this  prayer,  — 
That  while  he  for  me  was  wounded, 
With  indignities  surrounded, 

I  his  cup  of  grief  may  share. 

Make  me  truly  weep,  and  never 
From  the  Crucified  me  sever. 
Long  as  I  on  earth  shall  live  : 


;8o  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

By  the  cross  of  Jesus  weeping, 
Vigil  with  his  Mother  keeping, 
To  my  prayer  this  answer  give. 

God  of  saints  !  thou  King  most  holy ! 
Comforter  of  spirits  only  ! 

Fill  me  with  my  Saviour's  grief  ; 
That,  his  death  devoutly  bearing. 
And  his  bitter  passion  sharing, 

I  may  bring  him  some  relief. 

Make  me  with  his  stripes  be  stricken, 
With  the  cross  my  spirit  quicken. 

For  the  love  of  Christ  I  pray : 
That  with  love  inflamed,  attended, 
I  by  Love  may  be  defended 

In  the  awful  Judgment  Day. 

By  the  cross  for  ever  guarded, 

And,  through  Christ's  dear  dying,  warded 

By  the  grace  that  never  dies  ; 
When  my  mortal  body,  dying. 
In  the  quiet  grave  is  lying. 

Take  my  soul  to  paradise. 
To  adore 

Thee,  my  God,  for  evermore ! 

1306.  Jacobus  de  Benedictus,  trans,  by  J.  B.  Monsell. 


SOA'GS   OF  THE   CROSS.  l8l 


O    HEAD,    SO    FULL   OF    BRUISES. 

OHEAD,  so  full  of  bruises  ! 
Brow,  that  its  life-blood  loses  ! 
O  great  humility ! 
Across  his  face  are  flpng 
The  shadows  of  the  dying  : 
'Twas  suffered  all  for  me  ! 

O  back,  by  scourges  ploughed ! 
O  soul,  by  sorrow  bowed 

Upon  the  accursed  tree  ! 
He  hears  the  bitter  scorning ; 
'Tis  night,  without  a  dawning : 

Twas  suffered  all  for  me ! 

Eye,  that  in  darkness  sinketh  ! 
Lip,  that  the  red  cup  drinketh ! 

Hands,  bound  to  misery ! 
See,  from  his  feet  forth  streameth 
The  fountain  that  redeemeth  ! 

'Twas  suffered  all  for  me  I 

And  now  he  speaks  :  oh  hearken, 
While  clouds  all  nature  darken ! 

"  Lama  Sabacthani ! " 
His  head  is  bent,  and  droopeth. 
To  such  a  death  he  stoopeth  ! 

'Twas  suffered  all  for  me  ! 

tip  Joseph  Stammers. 


4J+— 0- 


1 82  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

THE   ROYAL   BANNERS   FORWARD   GO. 
{Vexilla  Regis  prodeunt.) 

^  I  ^HE  royal  banners  forward  go, 
-^       The  cross  shines  forth  in  mystic  glow, 
Where  he  in  flesh,  our  flesh  who  made, 
Our  sentence  bore,  our  ransom  paid. 

When  deep  for  us  the  spear  was  dyed, 
Life's  torrent  rushing  from  his  side, 
To  wash-  us  in  that  precious  flood, 
Where,  mingled,  water  flowed,  and  blood. 

Fulfilled  is  all  that  David  told  \ 

Li  true  prophetic  song  of  old  ; 
Amidst  the  nations,  God,  saith  he, 
Hath  reigned  and  triumphed  from  the  tree. 

O  tree  of  beauty  !  tree  of  light ! 
O  tree  with  royal  purple  dight ! 
Elect,  on  whose  triumphal  breast 
Those  holy  limbs  should  find  their  rest. 

On  whose  dear  arms,  so  widely  flung. 
The  weight  of  this  world's  ransom  hung : 
The  price  of  human-kind  to  pay. 
And  spoil  the  spoiler  of  his  prey. 

With  fragrance  dropping  from  each  bough. 
Sweeter  than  sweetest  nectar  thou  ; 
Decked  with  the  fruit  of  peace  and  praise, 
And  glorious  with  triumphal  lays. 


SOA'GS   OF   THE    CROSS.  1 83 

Hail,  altar  I  hail,  O  victim  !  thee 
Decks  now  thy  passion's  victory, 
Where  hfe,  for  sinners,  death  endured. 
And  hfe,  by  death,  for  man  procured. 

6th  century.  Venantius  Fortunatus,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


SING,    MY   TONGUE,    THE   GLORIOUS    BATTLE. 
{Pa7ige,  lingtia,  gloriosi.) 

OING,  my  tongue,  the  glorious  battle, 
^     With  completed  victory  rife  ; 
And,  above  the  cross's  trophy 

Tell  the  triumph  of  the  strife,  — 
How  the  world's  Redeemer  conquered. 

By  surrendering  of  his  life. 

God,  the  Maker,  sorely  grieving 
That  the  first-made  Adam  fell. 

When  he  eat  the  fruit  of  sorrow. 
Whose  reward  was  death  and  hell. 

Noted  then  this  Word,  the  ruin 
Of  the  ancient  word  to  quell. 

For  the  work  of  our  salvation 
Needs  would  have  his  order  so, 

And  the  multiform  deceiver's 
Art,  by  art  would  overthrow, 

And  from  thence  would  bring  the  med'cine, 
Whence  the  insult  of  the  foe. 


{H — 0- 


1 84  sojVgs  of  the  soul. 

Wherefore,  when  the  sacred  fulness 
Of  the  appointed  time  was  come, 

This  world's  Maker  left  his  Father, 
Sent  the  heavenly  mansion  from. 

And  proceeded,  God  Incarnate, 
Of  the  Virgin's  holy  womb. 

Weeps  the  Infant  in  the  manger. 
That  in  Bethlehem's  stable  stands  ; 

And  his  limbs  the  Virgin  Mother 
Doth  compose  in  swaddling-bands, 

Neatly  thus  in  linen  folding, 
Of  her  God,  the  feet  and  hands. 

Thirty  years  among  us  dwelling. 
His  appointed  time  fulfilled, 

Born  for  this,  he  meets  his  passion, 
For  that  this  he  freely  willed  : 

On  the  cross  the  Lamb  is  lifted. 
Where  his  life-blood  shall  be  spilled. 

He  endured  the  nails,  the  spitting. 
Vinegar  and  spear  and  reed  ; 

From  that  Holy  Body,  broken. 
Blood  and  water  forth  proceed  ; 

Earth  and  stars  and  sky  and  ocean. 
By  that  flood,  from  stain  are  freed. 

Faithful  cross  !  above  all  other. 
One  and  only  noble  tree  ! 

None  in  foliage,  none  in  blossom. 
None  in  fruit  thy  peers  may  be  : 

Sweetest  wood  and  sweetest  iron  ! 
Sweetest  weight  is  hung  on  thee ! 


sojVGS  of  the  cross.  185 

Bend  thy  boughs,  O  tree  of  glory ! 

Thy  relaxing  sinews  bend  ; 
For  a  while  the  ancient  vigor, 

That  thy  birth  bestowed,  suspend  ; 
And  the  King  of  heavenly  beauty 

On  thy  bosom  gently  tend  ! 

Thou  alone  wast  counted  worthy 
This  world's  ransom  to  uphold  ; 

For  a  shipwrecked  race  preparing 
Harbor  like  the  ark  of  old  ; 

With  the  sacred  blood  anointed, 

From  the  smitten  Lamb  that  rolled. 

When,  O  Judge  of  this  world,  coming 

In  thy  glory  all  divine, 
Thou  shalt  bid  thy  cross's  trophy 

Bright  above  the  stars  to  shine, 
Be  the  light  and  the  salvation 

Of  the  people  that  are  thine. 

6th  century.  Venantius  Fortunatus,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


SONG   OF   THE   CROSS. 
{Laiides  cruets  atiollamits.) 

"D  E  the  cross  our  theme  and  story, 
•^^     We  who  in  the  cross's  glory 

Shall  exult  for  evermore. 
By  the  cross  the  warrior  rises, 
By  the  cross  the  foe  despises. 

Till  he  gains  the  heavenly  shore. 


iS6  sojVgs  of  the  soul. 

Sweetest  praises 
Earth  upraises ; 
Accents  sweetest 
Are  the  meetest 
For  the  trees  of  sweetest  cheer ! 
Life  and  voice  keep  well  in  chorus ; 
Then  the  melody  sonorous 

Shall  make  concord  true  and  clear. 
« 
Love  be  warm,  and  praise  be  fervent, 
Thou  that  art  the  cross's  servant, 

And  in  that  hast  rest  from  strife : 
Every  kindred,  every  nation, 
Hail  the  tree  that  brings  salvation, 
Tree  of  beauty  I  tree  of  life  ! 

Oh,  how  glorious,  how  transcendent 
Was  this  altar  !  how  resplendent 

In  the  life-blood  of  the  Lamb  ! 
Of  the  Lamb  Immaculate 
That  redeemed  our  ancient  state 

From  its  sin  and  from  its  shame. 

Ladder  this  to  sinners  given. 
Whereby  Christ,  the  King  of  heaven. 

Drew  to  him  both  friends  and  foes  : 
Who  its  nature  hath  expended, 
In  its  limits  comprehended 

All  the  world's  four  quarters  knows. 

No  new  sacraments  we  mention  ; 
We  devise  no  new  invention  ; 
This  religion  was  of  old : 


HH — 0- 


SO.YGS  OF  THE   CROSS.  1 8/ 

Word  made  sweet  the  bitter  current,  — 
Word  called  forth  the  rushing  torrent 
From  the  smitten  rock  that  rolled. 

No  salvation  for  the  mansion 
Where  the  cross,  in  meet  expansion, 

On  the  door-post  stood  not  graved  : 
Where  it  stood,  the  midnight  blast 
Of  the  avenging  angel  passed, 

And  the  first-born  child  was  saved ! 

Rome  beheld  each  shattered  vessel, 
And  Maxentius  vainly  wrestle 

In  the  stream  against  its  might ; 
This  procured  the  bright  ovation 
O'er  the  Persian  and  the  Thracian, 

When  Heraclius  won  the  fight. 

Types  of  old,  in  Scripture  hidden, 
Setting  forth  the  cross,  are  bidden 

In  these  days  to  fuller  light ; 
Kings  are  flying,  foes  are  dying  ; 
On  the  cross  of  Christ  relying. 

One  a  thousand  puts  to  flight. 

This  its  votaries  still  secureth. 
Victory  evermore  assureth, 
Weakness  and  diseases  cureth. 

Triumphs  o'er  the  powers  of  hell ; 
Satan's  captives  liberateth. 
Life  in  sinners  renovateth, 
.  All  in  glory  reinstateth. 

Who  by  ancient  Adam  fell. 


1 88  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Tree,  triumphal  might  possessing ! 
Earth's  salvation,  crown,  and  blessing ! 
Every  other  prastergressing. 

Both  in  bloom  and  bud  and  flower ! 
Medicine  of  the  Christian  spirit, 
Save  the  just,  give  sinners  merit, 
Who  dost  might  for  deeds  inherit. 

Overpassing  human  power. 

X172.  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealh. 


JESUS,   HAIL! 

{Salve,  7nu7idi  sahitare  /) 

TESUS,  hail!  the  world's  salvation; 
^      Hail !  my  soul's  sweet  salutation  ; 
To  thy  cross  or  e'er  thou  goest, 
See  me  clinging,  why  thou  knowest ! 

Oh  take  me  with  thee  glorified ! 
There  as  though  I  stood  before  thee, 
There  I  see  thee,  there  adore  thee. 
All  thy  purest  love  exploring. 
All  my  sinful  self  abhorring. 

In  all  thy  dying  crucified. 

Scarred  beyond  all  time's  effacing, 
Suffer,  feet,  my  soul's  embracing, 
All  beneath  those  wounds  abasing. 
Ere  I  climb  the  glories  gracing 

That  meek  brow's  patient  majesty. 


SONGS   OF   THE  CROSS.  U 

Lo  I  we  bless  thy  love  unbounded, 
We  the  stricken,  we  the  wounded. 
Friend  of  sinners,  lost  and  parted. 
Healer  of  the  broken-hearted. 
Sweet  gospeller  of  misery! 

What  in  me  sin  has  contracted. 
Dissipated,  or  distracted. 
Loved  Physician,  cleanse  it  purely. 
Save  me  wholly,  save  me  surely. 

With  all  that  life-blood's  purity. 
With  my  whole  heart  I  have  sought  thee, 
There  where  all  my  sins  have  brought  thee ; 
On  the  cross  must  thou  not  heal  me, 
Purchase,  wash  me,  prove  me,  seal  me, 

In  all  thy  work's  maturity ! 

All  those  wounds,  their  red  lips  parting,    ' 
All  the  nail-dints  through  thee  darting. 
Write  within  me,  write  them  truly, 
Fix  me  to  thee,  fix  me  surely. 

From  all  thy  cross  inseparate ! 
Saviour,  to  thy  soul's  affliction. 
Let  me  speak  my  sin's  conviction  ; 
Man  of  God,  thy  feet  from  holding. 
Thrust  me  not,  that  grief  unfolding, 

From  thy  redemption  reprobate  ! 

Blessed  feet,  still  lowly  bending. 
Let  me  kiss  them  without  ending  ; 
Blessed  Jesus,  do  not  spurn  me  ! 
With  that  drooping  eye  discern  me. 
With  all  that  life's  last  sympathy ! 


1 90  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL, 

All  thy  Godhead's  might  uprearing, 
All  thy  human  love  endearing, 
Say,  upon  the  cross  appearing, 
Go  in  peace  I  thy  pardon  hearing, 
Thy  sins  are  all  forgiven  thee ! 

II53-  St.  Bernard,  trans,  by  H.  Kynaston. 


HAIL,      THOU      HEAD! 

{Salve,  Caput  cruentattim.^ 

T  TAIL,  thou  Head!  so  bruised  and  wounded, 
-*-  ■*-     With  the  crown  of  thorns  surrounded ; 
Smitten  with  the  mocking  reed. 
Wounds  which  may  not  cease  to  bleed. 

Trickling  faint  and  slow. 
Ha.il  I  from  whose  most  blessed  brow 
None  can  wipe  the  blood-drops  now  ; 
All  the  flower  of  life  has  fled, 
Mortal  paleness  there  instead  ; 
Thou,  before  whose  presence  dread, 

Angels  trembling  bow ! 

All  thy  vigor  and  thy  life 
Fading  in  this  bitter  strife  ; 
Death  his  stamp  on  thee  has  set, 
Hollow  and  emaciate. 

Faint  and  drooping  there. 
Thou  this  agony  and  scorn 
Hast  for  me,  a  sinner,  borne  ; 
Me,  unworthy,  all  for  me  ! 
With  those  signs  of  love  on  thee, 

Glorious  face,  appear ! 


sojvgs  of  the  cross.  191 

Yet,  in  this  thine  agony, 
Faithful  Shepherd,  think  of  me ; 
From  whose  hps  of  love  divine 
Sweetest  draughts  o£  life  are  mine, 
Purest  honey  flows. 
All  unworthy  of  thy  thought, 
Guilty,  yet  reject  me  not ; 
Unto  me  thy  head  incline, 
Let  that  dying  head  of  thine 
In  mine  arms  repose  I 

Let  me  true  communion  know. 
With  thee  in  thy  sacred  woe. 
Counting  all  beside  but  dross, 
Dying  with  thee  on  thy  cross  : 

'Neath  it  will  I  die ! 
Thanks  to  thee  with  every  breath, 
Jesus,  for  thy  bitter  death  ; 
Grant  thy  guilty  one  this  prayer. 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near, 

Gracious  God,  be  nigh  ! 

When  my  dying  hour  must  be, 
Be  not  absent  then  from  me ; 
In  that  dreadful  hour,  I  pray, 
Jesus,  come  without  delay : 

See  and  set  me  free  ! 
When  thou  biddest  me  depart. 
Whom  I  cleave  to  with  my  heart. 
Lover  of  my  soul,  be  near  ; 
With  thy  saving  cross  appear. 

Show  thyself  to  me  ! 

1153.  St.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  trans,  by  Mrs.  Charlks. 


192  SOA'GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

O   SACRED   HEAD!    NOW   WOUNDED. 

{O  Haupt  voll  Blut  uiid  Wtmden.) 

r\  SACRED  Head  !  now  wounded, 

^^     With  grief  and  shame  weighed  down, 

Now  scornfully  surrounded 

With  thorns,  thy  only  crown. 
O  sacred  Head !  what  glory. 

What  bliss,  till  now,  was  thine  I 
Yet,  though  despised  and  gory, 

I  joy  to  call  thee  mine. 

O  noblest  brow,  and  dearest ! 

In  other  days  the  world 
All  feared  when  thou  appearedst : 

What  shame  on  thee  is  hurled  ! 
How  art  thou  pale  with  anguish, 

With  sore  abuse  and  scorn  ; 
How  does  that  vision  languish, 

Which  once  was  bright  as  morn ! 

The  blushes  late  residing 

Upon  that  holy  cheek, 
The  roses  once  abiding 

Upon  those  lips  so  meek, 
Alas  !  they  have  departed  ; 

Wan  Death  has  rifled  all ! 
For  weak  and  broken-hearted, 

I  see  thy  body  fall. 


r.qil    » — ^ ^— ±f: 

SONGS   OF   THE   CROSS.  1 93 

What  thou,  my  Lord,  hast  suffered, 

Was  all  for  sinners'  gain  : 
Mine,  mine  was  the  transgression, 

But  thine  the  deadly  pain. 
Lo  !  here  I  fall,  my  Saviour, 

'Tis  I  deserve  thy  place  ; 
Look  on  me  with  thy  favor. 

Vouchsafe  to  me  thy  grace. 

Receive  me,  my  Redeemer  : 

My  Shepherd,  make  me  thine  ; 
Of  every  good  the  fountain, 

Thou  art  the  spring  of  mine. 
Thy  lips  with  love  distilling, 

And  milk  of  truth  sincere, 
With  heaven's  bliss  are  filling 

The  soul  that  trembles  here. 

Beside  thee.  Lord,  I've  taken 

My  place  —  forbid  it  not ! 
Hence  will  I  ne'er  be  shaken. 

Though  thou  to  death  be  brought. 
If  pain's  last  paleness  hold  thee 

In  agony  opprest, 
Then,  then  will  I  enfold  thee 

Within  this  arm  and  breast ! 

The  joy  can  ne'er  be  spoken, 

Above  all  joys  beside. 
When  in  thy  body  broken 

I  thus  with  safety  hide. 
13 


194  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

My  Lord  of  life,  desiring 

Thy  glory  now  to  see, 
Beside  the  cross  expiring, 

I'd  breathe  my  soul  to  thee. 

What  language  can  I  borrow 

To  thank  thee,  dearest  Friend, 
For  this  thy  dying  sorrow, 

Thy  pity  without  end  I 
Oh  make  me  thine  forever  ; 

And  should  I  fainting  be, 
Lord,  let  me  never,  never 

Outlive  my  love  to  thee  ! 

And  when  I  am  departing, 

Oh  part  not  thou  from  me  ! 
When  mortal  pangs  are  darting, 

Come,  Lord,  and  set  me  free ! 
And  when  my  heart  must  languish 

Amidst  the  final  throe, 
Release  me  from  mine  anguish 

By  thine  own  pain  and  woe ! 

Be  near  me  when  I'm  dying, 

Oh  show  thy  cross  to  me, 
And  for  my  succor  flying. 

Come,  Lord,  and  set  me  free ! 
These  eyes,  new  faith  receiving. 

From  Jesus  shall  not  move  ; 
For  he,  who  dies  believing, 

Dies  safely  in  thy  love  ! 

1656.  Paul  Gerhardt. 


<H — 0- 


^H— <- 


SOiVGS   OF  THE   CROSS.  1 95 


O   JESUS!    SWEET    THE    TEARS    I    SHED. 

(~\  JESUS  !  sweet  the  tears  I  shed, 
^-^     Whilst  at  thy  cross  I  kneel, 
Gaze  on  thy  wounded,  fainting  head, 
And  all  thy  sorrows  feel. 

My  heart  dissolves  to  see  thee  bleed, 

This  heart  so  hard  before ; 
I  hear  thee  for  the  guilty  plead. 

And  grief  o'erflows  the  more. 

'Twas  for  the  sinful  thou  didst  die, 

And  I  a  sinner  stand  : 
What  love  speaks  from  thy  dying  eye, 

And  from  each  pierced  hand  ! 

I  know  this  cleansing  blood  of  thine 

Was  shed,  dear  Lord,  for  me  ; 
For  me,  for  all  —  O  Grace  divine  !  — 

Who  look  by  faith  on  thee. 

O  Christ  of  God  !  O  spotless  Lamb  ! 

By  love  my  soul  is  drawn  ; 
Henceforth,  forever,  thine  I  am  ; 

Here  life  and  peace  are  born. 

In  patient  hope  the  cross  I'll  bear. 

Thine  arm  shall  be  my  stay  ; 
And  thou,  enthroned,  my  soul  shalt  spare. 

On  thy  great  judgment-day  ! 

1867.  Ray  Palmrr. 


[96  sojVGS  of  the  soul. 


HYMN    OF    ST.    STEPHEN    THE    SABAITE. 

(KOTTOV    r£     KOi    KClfLaTOV.) 

A   RT  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid, 
•^  ^     Art  thou  sore  distrest  ? 
"  Come  to  me,"  saith  One,  "  and  coming 
Be  at  rest !  " 

Hath  he  marks  to  lead  me  to  him, 

If  he  be  my  guide  ? 
"  In  his  feet  and  hands  are  wound-prints, 
And  his  side." 

Is  there  diadem,  as  monarch. 

That  his  brow  adorns  ? 
"  Yea,  a  crown,  in  very  surety, 
But  of  thorns  I  " 

If  I  find  him,  if  I  follow, 

What  his  guerdon  here  ? 
"  Many  a  sorrow,  many  a  labor, 
Many  a  tear." 

If  I  still  hold  closely  to  him. 

What  hath  he  at  last  ? 
'*  Sorrow  vanquished,  labor  ended, 
Jordan  past ! " 

If  I  ask  him  to  receive  me. 

Will  he  say  me  nay  ? 
"  Not  till  earth  and  not  till  heaven 
Pass  away ! " 


SONGS   OF   THE   CROSS.  1 9/ 

Finding,  following,  keeping,  struggling, 

Is  he  sure  to  bless  ? 
"  Angels,  martyrs,  prophets,  virgins, 
Answer,  Yes  ! " 

794.  Trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


THE   BLOOD-DROPS    OF   CHRIST. 

{Lines  pencilled  on  horseback  in  a  Syrian  tour.) 

TT  7'HEN  landing  first  on  Sharon's  plain, 

^  ^      In  walks  by  Jordan's  stream. 
On  Jezreel's  fields  of  waving  grain. 
Where  Hermon's  glaciers  gleam. 

Above  the  crest  of  Olivet, 

And  treading  many  an  hour 
The  Holy  Land,  I  oft  have  met 

And  plucked  a  blood-red  flower. 

''Blood-drops  of  Christ"  the  peasants  call 

The  multitudinous  gem, 
Which  reddens  thus  the  meadows  all. 

From  Dan  to  Bethlehem. 

The  stream  that  gushed  from  Jesus'  breast, 

In  golden  legend  sung. 
Lay  not  in  dust,  knew  not  of  rest. 

But  straightway  upward  sprung. 

It  rose,  this  flower,  which,  east  and  west, 

'Neath  Palestinian  skies. 
Blooms  earliest,  latest,  brightest,  best, 

And  wintry  storm  defies. 


198  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL.    • 

Gray  ruin  o'er  Judea  lowers, 

Jerusalem  lies  waste, 
Her  purest  shrines,  her  strongest  towers, 

By  war  and  time  defaced. 

Outlasting  Herod's  walls  of  stone. 

This  blossom  we  behold, 
More  gorgeously  than  Solomon 

Its  purple  robes  unfold. 

Its  chalice  pours  in  crimson  flood 

On  each  ensanguined  sod, 
The  cup  of  sacramental  blood, 

Shed  by  the  Lamb  of  God. 

God,  broadly  on  the  common  track, 

This  floral  angel  sent. 
That  Palestine  might  nowhere  lack 

The  Saviour's  monument. 

But,  seeking  Baalbec  and  Beyrout, 
No  blood-drops  met  my  sight. 

As  if  to  grow  the  emblem  shoot 
Were  only  Judah's  right. 

Nor  marvel  I  the  herb  of  grace 
Confines  its  influence  sweet 

To  regions  where,  in  dolorous  race, 
Christ  walked  with  bleeding  feet. 

Yet,  far  remote  from  Palestine, 
The  mystic  floweret  roams  ; 

For  myriad  pilgrims  now  combine 
To  shrine  it  in  their  homes. 


^#1—0 — 0-^$ 

SOA'GS  OF  THE   CROSS.  1 99 

And  farther  than  this  ruby  flower, 

Pilgrims  beyond  the  sea, 
The  blood  of  Christ  shall  prove  its  power 

To  make  men  truly  free. 

The  Moslem  crescent  pales  and  dies  ; 

Hopeless  the  myriads  weep  ; 
But  the  sole  blood  that  purifies, 

On  wings  of  fire  shall  sweep, 

In  climes  from  which  no  pilgrim  feet 

Have  sought  the  sacred  shore, 
When  the  last  flowers  their  course  complete, 

And  earth  shall  be  no  more. 

When  the  child  Christ  to  Eg}^pt  went. 

Eluding  Herod's  wrath. 
And  palms,  with  fruit  and  foliage,  bent 

Their  boughs  along  his  path. 

The  Holy  Babe  bade  heavenward  bear 

A  branchlet  from  those  trees. 
And  straight  an  angel  soared  in  air. 

To  do  his  Lord's  decrees. 

That  palm-spray,  planted  in  the  skies, 

There  grows  and  blossoms  still ; 
But,  when  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise. 

To  stand  on  Zion's  hill. 

From  its  wide  grove  it  then  shall  yield 

The  branches  to  be  waved. 
In  homage  on  the  crystal  field, 

By  nations  of  the  saved. 


-0 — H^ 


200  SO.VGS   OF    THE  SOUL. 

Beneath  those  palms,  let  us  believe, 
Blood-drops  of  Christ  now  bloom, 

And  their  angelic  care  receive, 
Till  saints  shall  burst  the  tomb. 

One  shadows  forth  his  triumph,  one 

His  agony  and  war ; 
The  palms  are  grand,  but  to  atone 

Blood-drops  are  mightier  far  ! 

1868.  James  D.  Butler. 


-0—\i\ 


SONGS    OF    SORROW. 


3>«^C 


THE    GLORIES    OF    OUR   BIRTH    AND    STATE. 

"^  I  ^HE  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 

-^       Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armor  against  fate  ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings  ; 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made. 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  with  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield, 
They  tame  but  one  another  still ; 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath, 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death  ! 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow ; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds  ; 
Upon  death's  purjDle  altar  now. 

See,  where  the  victor  victim  bleeds  ! 


4y— 0- 


f 


0-4* 

204  SOAVS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

All  heads  must  come 

To  the  cold  tomb : 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

1666.  James  Shirley. 


COUNT  EACH  AFFLICTION,   WHETHER  LIGHT 
OR    GRAVE. 

/^"^OUNT  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave, 
^-^     God's  messenger  sent  down  to  thee.     Do  thou 
With  courtesy  receive  him  :  rise  and  bow  ; 
And,  ere  his  shadow  pass  thy  threshold,  crave 
Permission  first  his  heavenly  feet  to  lave. 
Then  lay  before  him  all  thou  hast.     Allow 
No  cloud  of  passion  to  usurp  thy  brow. 
Or  mar  thy  hospitality,  no  wave 
Of  mortal  tumult  to  obliterate 
Thy  soul's  marmoreal  calmness.     Grief  should  be 
Like  joy,  majestic,  equable,  sedate. 
Confirming,  cleansing,  raising,  making  free. 
Strong  to  consume  small  troubles  ;  to  commend 
Great  thoughts,  grave  thoughts,  thoughts  lasting  to 
the  end. 

Aubrey  De  Vere. 


-0 S? 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  205 


A   FIRST   SORROW. 


A  RISE  !  this  day  shall  shine 
•^-^     For  evermore, 
To  thee  a  star  divine, 

On  Time's  dark  shore. 

Till  now  thy  soul  has  been 

All  glad  and  gay  : 
Bid  it  awake,  and  look 

At  grief  to-day ! 

No  shade  has  come  between 

Thee  and  the  sun  ; 
Like  some  long  childish  dream 

Thy  life  has  run  : 

But  now  the  stream  has  reached 

A  dark,  deep  sea. 
And  Sorrow,  dim  and  crowned, 

Is  waiting  thee. 

Each  of  God's  soldiers  bears 

A  sword  divine  : 
Stretch  out  thy  trembling  hands 

To-day  for  thine  ! 

To  each  anointed  priest 

God's  summons  came  : 

O  soul,  he  speaks  to-day. 
And  calls  thy  name. 


206  SOAGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Then,  with  slow,  reverent  step, 

And  beating  heart, 
From  out  thy  joyous  days, 

Thou  must  depart. 

And,  leaving  all  behind. 

Come  forth  alone, 
To  join  the  chosen  band 

Around  the  throne. 

Raise  up  thine  eyes  —  be  strong, 

Nor  cast  away 
The  crown  that  God  has  given 

Thy  soul  to  day ! 

1858.  Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


SPEECHLESS    SORROW   SAT   WITH    ME. 

OPEECHLESS  sorrow  sat  with  me, 
*^     I  was  sighing  wearily  ! 
Lamp  and  fire  were  out ;  the  rain 
Wildly  beat  the  window  pane. 
In  the  dark  we  heard  a  knock  ; 
And  a  hand  was  on  the  lock  ; 
One  in  waiting  spake  to  me. 

Saying  sweetly, 
"  I  am  come  to  sup  with  thee  !  " 

All  my  room  was  dark  and  damp  ; 
"  Sorrow  !  "  said  I,  "  trim  the  lamp  ; 


^ — \^ 

SOA^GS  OF  SORROIV.  20/ 

Light  the  fire,  and  cheer  thy  face  ; 
Set  the  guest-chair  in  its  place." 
And  again  I  heard  the  knock  : 
In  the  dark  I  found  the  lock,  — 
"  Enter  !  I  have  turned  the  key,  — 

Enter,  Stranger ! 
Who  art  come  to  sup  with  me." 

Opening  wide  the  door  he  came, 
But  I  could  not  speak  his  name ; 
In  the  guest-chair  took  his  place, 
But  I  could  not  see  his  face  ; 
When  my  cheerful  fire  was  beaming, 
When  my  little  lamp  was  gleaming. 
And  the  feast  was  spread  for  three, 

Lo !  my  Master 
Was  the  guest  that  supped  with  me  ! 

Harriet  M.  Kimball. 


FATHER!    BEFORE    THY    FOOTSTOOL 
KNEELING. 

■pATHER  !  before  thy  footstool  kneehng, 
-*■        Once  more  my  heart  goes  up  to  thee, 
For  aid,  for  strength,  to  thee  appealing, 
Thou  who  alone  canst  succor  me. 

Hear  me !  for  heart  and  flesh  are  failing, 
My  spirit  yielding  in  the  strife  ; 

And  anguish  wild  as  unavailing. 
Sweeps  in  a  flood  across  my  life. 


208  SO.VGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Help  me  to  stem  the  tide  of  sorrow, 
Help  me  to  bear  thy  chastening  rod  ; 

Give  me  endurance  ;  let  me  borrow 

Strength  from  thy  promise,  O  my  God  I 

Not  mine  the  grief  which  words  may  lighten  ; 

Not  mine  the  tears  of  common  woe  : 
The  pang  with  which  my  heart-strings  tighten, 

Only  the  All-seeing  One  may  know. 

And  I  am  weak  !  my  feeble  spirit 

Shrinks  from  life's  task  in  wild  dismay  : 

Yet,  not  that  thou  that  task  wouldst  spare  it. 
My  Father,  do  I  dare  to  pray. 

Into  my  soul  thy  might  infusing. 

Strengthening  my  spirit  by  thine  own. 

Help  me,  all  other  aid  refusing, 
To  cling  to  thee,  and  thee  alone. 

And  oh,  in  my  exceeding  weakness, 

Make  thy  strength  perfect,  —  thou  art  strong  ! 

Aid  me  to  do  thy  will  with  meekness. 
Thou  to  whom  all  my  powers  belong. 

Saviour  !  our  human  form  once  wearing. 
Help,  by  the  memory  of  that  day 

When,  painfully  thy  dark  cross  bearing, 
E'en  for  a  time  thy  strength  gave  way. 

Beneath  a  lighter  burden  sinking, 

Jesus,  I  cast  myself  on  thee  ; 
Forgive,  forgive  this  useless  shrinking 

From  trials  that  I  know  must  be. 


l^f4— d- 


sojvgs  of  sorrow.  209 

Oh  let  me  feel  that  thou  art  near  me, 

Close  to  thy  side  I  shall  not  fear  ; 
Hear  me,  O  Strength  of  Israel,  hear  me  ! 

Sustain  and  aid  !  in  mercy  hear  I 


O  THOU  WHO  DRY'ST  THE   MOURNER^S  TEAR. 

r^  THOU  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear, 
^-^     How  dark  this  world  would  be. 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  thee  ! 
The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown, 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart. 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part. 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers. 

And  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too  ! 
Oh,  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom. 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love 
Come  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  peace-branch  from  above  ! 
14 


r#f — 0 0    .I.IP. 

210  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Then  sorrow,  touched  by  thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day  ! 

1816.  Thomas  Moore. 


IN    THIS    DIM    WORLD    OF   CLOUDING    CARES. 

TN  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares, 
-*-     We  rarely  know,  till  wildered  eyes 

See  white  wings  lessening  up  the  skies, 
The  angels  with  us  unawares. 

And  thou  hast  stolen  a  jewel.  Death, 
Shall  light  thy  dark  up  like  a  star, 
A  beacon  kindling,  from  afar. 

Our  light  of  love  and  fainting  faith. 

Thro'  tears  it  gleams  perpetually. 

And  glitters  through  the  thickest  glooms, 
Till  the  eternal  morning  comes 

To  light  us  o'er  the  jasper  sea. 

With  our  best  branch  in  tenderest  leaf. 

We've  strewn  the  way  our  Lord  doth  come  ; 
And,  ready  for  the  harvest  home, 

His  reapers  bind  our  ripest  sheaf. 

Oh  weep  no  more  !  there  yet  is  balm 
In  Gilead  !  Love  doth  ever  shed 
Rich  healing  where  it  nestles,  —  spread 

O'er  desert  pillows  some  green  palm ! 


#- 


0 — (« 

SOA'GS   OF  SORROW.  211 

God's  ichor  fills  the  hearts  that  bleed  ; 

The  best  fruit  loads  the  broken  bough  ; 

And,  in  the  wounds  our  sufferings  plough, 
Immortal  love  sows  sovereign  seed  ! 

1854.  Gerald  Massey. 


THE   TWO   ANGELS. 

^  I  "WO  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of  Death, 

^       Passed  o'er  the  village  as  the  morning  broke  ; 
The  dawn  was  on  their  faces,  and  beneath 

The  sombre  houses,  hearsed  with  plumes  of  smoke. 

Their  attitude  and  aspect  was  the  same. 

Alike  their  features,  and  their  robes  of  white  ; 

But  one  was  crowned  with  amaranth  as  a  flame. 
And  one  with  asphodels  like  flakes  of  light. 

I  saw  them  pause  on  their  celestial  way. 

Then  said  I,  with  deep  fear  and  doubt  oppressed, 

"  Beat  not  so  loud,  my  heart,  lest  thou  betray 
The  place  where  thy  beloved  are  at  rest ! " 

And  he  who  wore  the  crown  of  asphodels. 
Descending  at  my  door,  began  to  knock. 

And  my  soul  sank  within  me,  as  in  wells 

The  water  sinks,  before  an  earthquake's  shock. 

I  recognized  the  nameless  agony, 

The  terror,  and  the  tremor,  and  the  pain, 

That  oft  before  had  filled  and  haunted  me. 

And  now  returned  with  threefold  strength  again. 


f 


-0 — H» 


212  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

The  door  I  opened  to  my  heavenly  guest, 

And  hstened,  for  I  thought  I  heard  God's  voice ; 

And,  knowing  whatsoe'er  he  sent  was  best, 
Dared  neither  to  lament  nor  to  rejoice. 

Then,  with  a  smile  that  filled  the  house  with  light, 
"  My  errand  is  not  death,  but  life,"  he  said  ; 

And,  ere  I  answered,  passing  out  of  sight, 
On  his  celestial  embassy  he  sped. 

'Twas  at  thy  door,  O  friend,  and  not  at  mine. 
The  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath, 

Pausing,  descended,  and,  with  voice  divine. 

Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like  "  death." 

Then  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin  ; 

And,  softly  from  the  hushed  and  darkened  room, 
Two  angels  issued,  where  but  one  went  in. 

All  is  of  God  !  if  he  but  wave  his  hand. 

The  mists  collect,  the  rains  fall  thick  and  loud, 

Till,  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land, 
Lo  !  he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Angels  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  his  ; 

Without  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold  o'er ; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this, 

Against  his  messenger  to  shut  the  door  ? 

1858.  H.  W.  Longfellow. 


^ '■ o—w 

SONGS  OF  SORROW.  213 

SUSPIRIA. 

^  I  ^AKE  them,  O  Death,  and  bear  away 

-■-       Whatever  thou  canst  call  thine  own  ! 
Thine  image  stamped  upon  this  clay 
Doth  give  thee  that,  but  that  alone  I 

Take  them,  O  Grave,  and  let  them  lie 

Folded  upon  thy  narrow  shelves. 
As  garments  by  the  soul,  laid  by, 

And  precious  only  to  ourselves  ! 

Take  them,  O  great  Eternity ! 

Our  little  life  is  but  a  gust, 
That  bends  the  branches  of  thy  tree, 

And  trails  its  blossoms  in  the  dust ! 

1852.  H.    W.    LONGFELUJW, 


ROOM    FOR   OUR   TREASURE. 

"D  OOM  for  our  treasure,  closed  tomb ! 
-*-^     Open  thy  doors,  O  Grave  ! 
Take  all  the  angel  Death  can  claim, 

And  all  that  thou  canst  have. 
For  Christ  to  thy  dark  gates  went  down, 

And  rent  the  veil  in  twain, 
And  gleams  of  glory,  else  unseen, 

Point  where  he  rose  again. 


214  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Room  for  thy  kindred  dust,  O  Earth, 

The  casket  of  the  soul ; 
Room  for  a  Uttle  while,  and  then 

Resign  thy  proud  control. 
O  Death,  where  is  thy  boasted  power, 

That  breaks  Life's  threefold  cord. 
When  the  freed  spirit  upward  soars, 

To  meet  her  risen  Lord  ? 

Take,  then,  the  garment  of  our  loved, 

Still  precious  for  her  sake  ; 
But  glorious  shall  that  garment  be 

When  Christ  shall  bid  her  wake. 
.    The  faded  form  thou  dost  enfold, 

On  which  we  weeping  gazed, 
Shall  lose  each  stain  of  Earth,  and  be 

In  incorruption  raised. 


THE  VOICE  WHICH  I  DID  MORE  ESTEEM. 

nr^HE  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem 
-■-       Than  music  in  her  sweetest  key, 
Those  eyes  which  unto  me  did  seem 
More  comfortable  than  the  day,  — 
Those  now  by  me,  as  they  have  been. 
Shall  never  more  be  heard  or  seen  ; 
But  what  I  once  enjoyed  in  them 
Shall  seem  hereafter  as  a  dream. 


♦ 


-0- 


■«— H^i 


SONGS  OF  SORROW,  21 S 

.   All  earthly  comforts  vanish  thus  ; 

So  little  hold  of  them  have  we, 
That  we  from  them,  or  they  from  us, 

May  in  a  moment  ravished  be. 
Yet  we  are  neither  just  nor  wise 
If  present  mercies  we  despise  ; 
Or  mind  not  how  there  may  be  made 
A  thankful  use  of  what  we  had. 

1641.  George  Wither. 


"THE    SILVER   CORD    IS    LOOSED.' 


TN  the  June  twilight,  in  the  soft,  gray  twilight, 

-*-     The  yellow  sun-glow  trembling  through  the  rainy 

eve, 
As  my  love  lay  quiet,  came  the  solemn  fiat, 

"All    these  things  for  ever,  for   ever  thou  must 

leave." 


My  love  she  sank  down  quivering,  like  a  pine  in  tem- 
pest shivering, 
"  I  have  had  so  little  happiness  as  yet  beneath  the 
sun  ; 
I  have  called  the  shadow  sunshine,  and  the  merest 
frosty  moonshine 
I  have,  weeping,  blessed  the  Lord  for,  as  if  daylight 
had  begun. 


■o^-^i^ 


-0— fih 


2l6  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

*'  Till  he  sent  a  sudden  angel,  with  a  glorious  sweet 
evangel, 
Who  turned  all  my  tears  to  pearl-gems,  and  crowned 
me,  —  so  little  worth  ; 
Me!  and  through  the  rainy  even  changed  my  poor 
earth  into  heaven, 
Or,  by  wondrous  revelation,  brought  the  heavens 
down  to  earth. 

"  Oh  the  strangeness  of  the  feeling  !  —  oh  the  infinite 
revealing,  — 
To  think  how  God  must  love  me  to  have  made  me 
so  content ! 
Though   I  would  have  served  him  humbly,  and  pa- 
tiently, and  dumbly. 
Without  any  angel  standing  in  the  pathway  that 
I  went." 

In  the  June  twilight,  in  the  lessening  twilight. 

My  love  cried  from  my  bosom  an  exceeding  bitter 
cry : 
"  Lord,  wait  a  little  longer,  until  my  soul  is  stronger ! 
Oh  wait  till  thou  hast  taught  me  to  be  content  to 
die ! " 

Then  the  tender  face,  all  woman,  took  a  glory  super- 
human, 
And  she  seemed  to  watch  for  something,  or  see  some 
I  could  not  see : 
From  my  arms  she  rose  full-statured,  all  transfigured, 
queenly-featured,  — 
"  As  thy  will  is  done  in  heaven,  so  on  earth  still  let 
it  be ! " 


-0-44  fc" 


#1—0 ^^^ 

SOA^GS  OF  SORROW.  21 J 

I  go  lonely,  I  go  lonely,  and  I  feel  that  earth  is  only 
The  vestibule  of  palaces  whose  courts  we  never 
win  : 
Yet  I  see  my  palace  shining,  where  my  love  sits  ama- 
ranths twining. 
And   I   know   the  gates   stand   open,   and   I    shall 
enter  in ! 

1866.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch. 


THE   REAPER   AND   THE   FLOWERS. 


^  I  ^HERE  is  a  reaper  whose  name  is  Death, 
-*-       And,  with  his  sickle  keen, 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath. 
And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

"  Shall  I  have  naught  that  is  fair  ? "  said  he, 
*'  Have  naught  but  the  bearded  grain  ? 

Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  is  sweet  to  me, 
I  will  give  them  all  back  again." 

He  gazed  on  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 

He  kissed  their  drooping  leaves  : 
It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 

He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 

"  My  Lord  hath  need  of  these  flowerets  gay," 

The  reaper  said,  and  smiled  ; 
*'  Dear  tokens  of  the  earth  are  they. 

Where  he  was  once  a  child. 


2l8  SONGS  OF   THE   SOUL. 

"  They  shall  all  bloom  in  fields  of  light, 

Transplanted  by  my  care, 
And  saints  upon  their  garments  white 

These  sacred  blossoms  wear." 

And  the  mother  gave,  with  tears  and  pain, 

The  flowers  she  most  did  love  ; 
But  she  knew  she  should  find  them  all  again 

In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

Oh  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 

The  Reaper  came  that  day ! 
'Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth 

And  took  the  flowers  away. 

1852.  H.  W.  Longfellow. 


WE  WATCHED   HER  BREATHING  THROUGH 
THE  NIGHT. 

^T  ?"£  watched  her  breathing  through  the  night, 

^  ^       Her  breathing  soft  and  low. 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 
Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

So  silently  we  seemed  to  speak. 

So  gently  moved  about. 
As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 

To  eke  her  living  out. 

Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears. 

Our  fears  our  hopes  belied, 
We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept, 

And  sleeping  when  she  died. 


f*t— ^ ^ : 0-^^ 

SONGS   OF  SORROW.  219 

And  when  the  morn  came,  dim  and  sad, 

And  chill  with  early  showers, 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed,  she  had 

Another  morn  than  ours  I 

1845.  Thomas  Hood. 


O    YE   WHO    SAY,    "WE    HAVE   A   CHILD 
IN    HEAVEN"! 

/^  YE  who  say,  "  We  have  a  child  in  heaven  ; " 
^-^     W^ho  have  felt  that  desolate  isolation  sharp, 
Defined  in  Death's  own  face  ;  who  have  stood  beside 
The  Silent  River,  and  stretched  out  pleading  hands 
For  some  sweet  babe  upon  the  other  bank, 
That  went  forth  where  no  hand  might  lead, 
And  left  the  closed  house  with  no  light,  no  sound, 
No  answer,  when  the  mourners  wail  without : 
What  we  have  known,  ye  know,  and  only  know. 

We  saw,  but  feared  to  speak  of  her  strange  beauty ; 
As  some  hushed  bird  that  dares  not  sing  in  the  night, 
Lest  lurking  foe  should  find  its  secret  place 
And   seize  it  through   the  dark.      With    twin-love's 

strength, 
All  crowded  in  the  softest  nestling-touch. 
We  fenced  her  round.     Exchanging  silent  looks, 
We  went  about  the  house  with  Hstening  hearts, 
And  eyes  that  watched  for  danger's  coming  steps. 
Our  spirits  felt  the  shadow  ere  it  fell ! 


220  SO  JVC  S   OF   THE  SOUL. 

We  Stood  at  midnight  in  the  Presence  dread. 
At  midnight,  when  men  die,  we  strove  with  Death, 
To  wrench  our  darhng  from  his  grasping  hand  ! 
Ere  the  soul  loosed  from  its  last  ledge  of  life, 
Her  little  face  peered  round  with  anxious  eyes. 
Then,  seeing  the  old  familiar  faces,  dropped  content ! 

And  there  our  jewel  lay  in  coffined  calm, 
Dressed  for  the  grave  in  raiment  like  the  snow, 
And  o'er  her  flowed  the  Everlasting  Peace ! 
The  breathing  miracle  into  silence  passed  ; 
Never  to  stretch  her  hands,  with  her  sweet  smile 
As  soft  as  nightfall  on  unfolding  flowers  ! 
Never  to  wake  us  crying  in  the  night ! 
Our  little  hindering  thing  for  ever  gone ! 

1857.  Gerald  Massey. 


WHEN    THE    MORNING,    HALF    IN    SHADOW. 

"TT /"HEN  the  morning,  half  in  shadow, 

^  ^       Ran  along  the  hill  and  meadow. 
And,  with  milk-white  fingers,  parted 
Crimson  roses,  golden-hearted  ; 
Opening  over  ruins  hoary 
Every  purple  morning-glory. 
And  outshaking  from  the  bushes 
Singing  larks  and  pleasant  thrushes  : 
That's  the  time  our  little  baby  — 
Strayed  from  paradise  it  may  be  — 
Came  with  eyes  like  heaven  above  her ; 
Oh  we  could  not  choose  but  love  her ! 


iffl    0 »    l.'ip. 

^'aA^G^'   6>7^  SORROW.  221 

Not  enough  of  earth  for  sinning, 
Always  gentle,  always  winning, 
Never  needing  our  reproving. 
Ever  lovely,  ever  loving  ; 
Starry  eyes,  and  sunset  tresses. 
White  arms,  made  for  light  caresses. 
Lips,  that  knew  no  word  of  doubting, 
Often  kissing,  never  pouting  ; 
Beauty,  even  in  completeness, 
Over-full  of  childish  sweetness  : 
That's  the  way  our  little  baby, 
Far  too  pure  for  earth,  it  may  be, 
Seemed  to  us,  who,  while  about  her, 
Deemed  we  could  not  do  without  her. 

When  the  morning,  half  in  shadow, 
Ran  along  the  hill  and  meadow. 
And,  with  milk-white  fingers,  parted 
Crimson  roses,  golden-hearted  ; 
Opening  over  ruins  hoary 
Every  purple  morning-glory, 
And  outshaking  from  the  bushes 
Singing  larks  and  pleasant  thrushes  : 
That's  the  time  our  little  baby, 
Pining  here  for  heaven,  it  may  be, 
Turning  from  our  bitter  weeping. 
Closed  her  eyes  as  when  in  sleeping, 
And  her  white  hands  on  her  bosom 
Folded,  like  a  summer  blossom. 

Now,  the  litter  she  doth  lie  on. 
Strewed  with  roses,  bear  to  Zion  ; 

**■ 
-^ <-3i3 


-0^ — H^ 


222  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Go,  as  past  a  pleasant  meadow, 
Through  the  valley  of  the  shadow. 
Take  her  softly,  holy  angels, 
Past  the  ranks  of  God's  evangels, 
Past  the  saints  and  martyrs  holy, 
To  the  Earth-Born  meek  and  lowly : 
We  would  have  our  precious  blossom 
Softly  laid  in  Jesus'  bosom  ! 


A   MOTHER'S   WAIL. 


"jV /TY  babe  !  my  tiny  babe  !  my  only  babe  ! 
-^^■^     My  single  rosebud  in  a  crown  of  thorns  ! 
My  lamp  that  in  the  narrow  hut  of  life, 
Whence  I  looked  forth  upon  a  night  of  storms, 
Burned  with  the  lustre  of  the  moon  and  stars  ! 

My  babe  !  my  tiny  babe  !  my  only  babe  ! 
Behold  the  bud  is  gone !  the  thorns  remain  ! 
My  lamp  hath  fallen  from  its  niche,  —  ah  me  ! 
Earth  drinks  the  fragrant  flame,  and  I  am  left 
For  ever  and  for  ever  in  the  dark  ! 

My  babe  !  my  babe  !  my  own  and  only  babe  ! 
Where  art  thou  now  ?     If  somewhere  in  the  sky 
An  angel  holds  thee  in  his  radiant  arms, 
I  challenge  him  to  clasp  thy  tender  form 
With  half  the  fervor  of  a  mother's  love ! 


SO.VGS  OF  SORROW.  223 

Forgive  me,  Lord  !  forgive  my  reckless  grief ! 
Forgive  me  that  this  rebel,  selfish  heart 
Would  almost  make  me  jealous  for  my  child, 
Though  thy  own  lap  enthroned  him.     Lord,  thou  hast 
So  many  such  !  I  have  —  ah  !  had  but  one  ! 

Oh  yet  once  more,  my  babe,  to  hear  thy  cry ! 

Oh  yet  once  more,  my  babe,  to  see  thy  smile ! 

Oh  yet  once  more  to  feel  against  my  breast 

Those  cool,  soft  hands,  that  warm,  wet,  eager  mouth, 

With  the  sweet  sharpness  of  its  budding  pearls ! 

But  it  must  never,  never  more  be  mine 
To  mark  the  growing  meaning  in  thine  eyes, 
To  watch  thy  soul  unfolding  leaf  by  leaf, 
Or  catch,  with  ever  fresh  surprise  and  joy, 
Thy  dawning  recognitions  of  the  world. 

Three  different  shadows  of  thyself,  my  babe, 
Change  with  each  other  while  I  weep.     The  first. 
The  sweetest,  yet  the  not  least  fraught  with  pain, 
Clings  like  my  living  boy  around  my  neck, 
Or  purrs  and  murmurs  softly  at  my  feet ! 

Another  is  a  little  mound  of  earth  ; 

That  comes  the  oftenest,  darling  !     In  my  dreams 

I  see  it  beaten  by  the  midnight  rain. 

Or  chilled  beneath  the  moon.     Ah  !  what  a  couch 

For  that  which  I  have  shielded  from  a  breath 

That  would  not  stir  the  violets  on  thy  grave  ! 

The  third,  my  precious  babe  !  the  third,  O  Lord ! 
Is  a  fair  cherub  face  beyond  the  stars. 


224  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Wearing  the  roses  of  a  mystic  bliss, 

Yet  sometimes  not  unsaddened  by  a  glance 

Turned  earthward  on  a  mother  in  her  woe ! 

This  is  the  vision,  Lord,  that  I  would  keep 

Before  me  always.    But  alas  !  as  yet. 

It  is  the  dimmest,  and  the  rarest  too ! 

Oh  touch  my  sight,  or  break  the  cloudy  bars 

That  hide  it,  lest  I  madden  where  I  kneel ! 


Henry  Timrod. 


GONE. 

A  NOTHER  hand  is  beckoning  us, 
-^  ^     Another  call  is  given  ; 
And  glows  once  more  with  angel  steps, 
The  path  which  reaches  heaven. 

Our  young  and  gentle  friend,  whose  smile 
Made  brighter  summer  hours. 

Amid  the  frosts  of  autumn  time 
Has  left  us  with  the  flowers. 

No  paling  of  the  cheek  of  bloom 

Forewarned  us  of  decay  ; 
No  shadow  from  the  silent  land 

Fell  round  our  sister's  way. 

The  light  of  her  young  life  went  down, 

As  sinks  behind  the  hill. 
The  glory  of  a  setting  star,  — 

Clear,  suddenly,  and  still. 


r«H — 0- 


SO2VGS  OF  SORROW.  225 

As  pure  and  sweet,  her  fair  brow  seemed 

Eternal  as  the  sky ; 
And  hke  the  brook's  low  song,  her  voice,  — 

A  sound  which  could  not  die. 

And  half  we  deemed  she  needed  not 

The  changing  of  her  sphere, 
To  give  to  heaven  a  shining  one 

Who  walked  an  angel  here. 

The  blessing  of  her  quiet  life 

Fell  on  us  like  the  dew  ; 
And  good  thoughts,  where  her  footsteps  pressed, 

Like  fairy  blossoms  grew. 

Sweet  promptings  unto  kindest  deeds 

Were  in  her  very  look  ; 
We  read  her  face,  as  one  who  reads 

A  true  and  holy  book  : 

The  measure  of  a  blessed  hymn. 

To  which  our  hearts  could  move ; 
The  breathing  of  an  inward  psalm, 

A  canticle  of  love. 

We  miss  her  in  the  place  of  prayer, 

And  by  the  hearth-fire's  light ; 
We  pause  beside  her  door  to  hear, 

Once  more,  her  sweet  "  Good-night !  " 

There  seems  a  shadow  on  the  day, 

Her  smile  no  longer  cheers ; 
A  dimness  on  the  stars  of  night, 

Like  eyes  that  look  through  tears. 
15 


4H— 0- 


f 


-0 — Uy 


226  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Alone,  unto  our  Father's  will, 

One  thought  hath  reconciled, 
That  he  whose  love  exceedeth  ours, 

Hath  taken  home  his  child. 

Fold  her,  O  Father,  in  thine  arms, 

And  let  her  henceforth  be 
A  messenger  of  love  between 

Our  human  hearts  and  thee. 

Still  let  her  mild  rebuking  stand 

Between  us  and  the  wrong. 
And  her  dear  memory  serve  to  make 

Our  faith  in  goodness  strong. 

And  grant  that  she  who,  trembling,  here 

Distrusted  all  her  powers, 
May  welcome  to  her  holier  home 

The  well-beloved  of  ours. 

1850.  J.  G.  Whittier. 


MY   DARLING'S    SHOES. 


(~^  OD  bless  the  little  feet  that  can  never  go  astray, 
^-^      For  the  little  shoes  are  empty,  in  the  closet  hid 

away ! 
Sometimes  I  take  one  in  my  hand,  forgetting,  till  I  see 
It  is  a  little  half-worn  shoe,  not  large  enough  for  me ; 
And  all  at  once  I  feel  a  sense  of  bitter  loss  and  pain. 
As  sharp  as  when,  two  years  ago,  it  cut  my  heart  in 
twain. 


tH — 0- 


-0 HJ 


SOA^GS  OF  SORROW.  22/ 

0  little  feet  that  wearied  not !  I  wait  for  them  no  more, 
For  I  am  drifting  on  the  tide,  but  they  have  reached 

the  shore ; 
And  while  the  blinding  tear-drops  wet  these  little  shoes 

so  old, 
She  stands  unsandaled  in  the  streets  that  pearly  gates 

infold  : 
So  I  softly  lay  them  down  again,  but  always  turn  to 

say, 
God  bless  the  little  feet  that  now  so  surely  cannot 

stray ! 

And,  while  I  thus  am  standing,  I  almost  seem  to  see 
Two  little  forms  beside  me,  just  as  they  used  to  be ; 
Two  little  faces  lifted  with  their  sweet  and  tender 

eyes : — 
Ah  me !    I  might  have  known  that  look  was  born  of 

paradise. 

1  reach  my  arms  out  fondly,  but  they  clasp  the  empty 

air, 
There's  nothing  of   my  darlings  but  the  shoes  they 
used  to  wear ! 

Oh  the  bitterness  of  parting  cannot  be  done  away, 
Till  I  see  my  darlings  walking  where  their  feet  can 

never  stray ! 
When  I  no  more  am  drifted  upon  the  surging  tide, 
But  with  them  safely  landed  upon  the  river  side ; 
Be  patient,  heart !  while  waiting  to  see  their  shining 

way. 
For  the  httle  feet  in  the  golden  street  can  never  go 

astray  I 


.in  I.    0 

228  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

A   FATHER'S   LAMENT. 

/^"^HILD,  by  God's  sweet  mercy  given 
^^     To  thy  mother  and  to  me, 
Entering  this  world  of  sorrows, 

By  his  grace  so  fair  to  see ; 
Fair  as  some  sweet  flower  in  summer, 

Till  Death's  hand  on  thee  was  laid. 
Scorched  the  beauty  from  my  flower. 

Made  the  tender  petals  fade. 
Yet  I  dare  not  weep  nor  murmur, 

For  I  know  the  King  of  kings 
Leads  thee  to  his  marriage  chamber, 

To  the  glorious  bridal  brings. 

Nature  fain  would  have  me  weeping. 

Love  asserts  her  mournful  right ; 
But  I  answer,  they  have  brought  thee 

To  the  happy  world  of  light. 
And  I  fear  that  my  lamentings. 

As  I  speak  thy  cherished  name, 
Desecrate  the  royal  dwelling,  — 

Fear  to  meet  deserved  blame, 
If  I  press  with  tears  of  anguish 

Into  the  abodes  of  joy  ; 
Therefore  will  I,  meekly  bowing. 

Offer  thee  to  God,  my  boy. 

Yet  thy  voice,  thy  childish  singing, 
Soundeth  ever  in  mine  ears  ; 

And  I  listen  and  remember, 
Till  mine  eyes  will  gather  tears, 


_ 0— I* 

sojVgs  of  sorrow.  229 

Thinking  of  thy  pretty  prattlings, 

And  thy  childish  words  of  love  ; 
But  when  I  begin  to  murmur, 

Then  my  spirit  looks  above, 
Listens  to  the  songs  of  spirits,  — 

Listens,  longing,  wondering, 
To  the  ceaseless  glad  hosannas 

Angels  at  thy  bridal  sing. 

378.  Ephraem  Syrus. 


I 


MY   CHILD. 

CANNOT  make  him  dead  ! 
His  fair,  sunshiny  head 
Is  ever  bounding  round  my  study  chair  ; 
Yet,  when  my  eyes,  now  dim 
With  tears,  I  turn  to  him. 
The  vision  vanishes.     He  is  not  there  ! 

I  walk  my  parlor  floor, 

And  through  the  open  door 
I  hear  a  foot-fall  on  the  chamber  stair ; 

I'm  stepping  toward  the  hall, 

To  give  the  boy  a  call ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  thread  the  crowded  street  ; 

A  satchelled  lad  I  meet. 
With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  colored  hair, 

And,  as  he's  running  by. 

Follow  him  with  my  eye. 
Scarcely  believing  that  —  he  is  not  there ! 


230  SOiVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin  hd  ; 
Closed  are  his  eyes  ;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair  ; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt  ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt ; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  cannot  make  him  dead  ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed, 
So  long  watched  over  with  parental  care, 

My  spirit  and  my  eye, 

Seek  it  inquiringly. 
Before  the  thought  comes  that  —  he  is  not  there ! 

When  at  the  cool,  gray  break 

Of  day,  from  sleep  I  wake. 
With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air. 

My  soul  goes  up  with  joy 

To  Him  who  gave  my  boy ; 
Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that  —  he  is  not 
there  ! 

When  at  the  day's  calm  close. 

Before  we  seek  repose, 
I'm  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer, 

Whate'er  I  may  be  saying., 

I  am  in  spirit  praying 
For  our  boy's  spirit,  though  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

Not  there !  where,  then,  is  he  ? 
The  form  I  used  to  see 


■0—Hh 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  23 1 

Was  but  the  raime?it  that  he  used  to  wear ; 

The  grave  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  that  cast-off  dress, 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked  :  he  is  not  there ! 

He  hves  !     In  all  the  past 

He  lives  ;  nor,  to  the  last. 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair  ; 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now  ; 

And,  on  his  angel  brow, 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  there  !  " 

Yes,  we  all  live  to  God ! 

Father,  thy  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear. 

That,  in  the  spirit-land. 

Meeting  at  thy  right  hand, 
'Twill  be  our  heaven  to  find  that  ^  he  is  tJiere  ! 

1840.  John  Pierpont. 

A   CHILD'S    DEATH. 

THOU  touchest  us  Hghtly,  O  God,  in  our  grief, 
But  how  rough  is  thy  touch  in  our  prosperous 
hours  ! 
All  was  bright,  but  thou  camest,  so  dreadful  and  brief. 
Like  a  thunderbolt  falling  in  gardens  of  flowers. 

My  children  !  my  children  !  they  clustered  all  round  me. 
Like  a   rampart  which  sorrow  could  never  break 
through ; 

Each  change  in  their  beautiful  lives  only  bound  me 
In  a  spell  of  delight  which  no  care  could  undo. 


4H — 0- 


^»±— ^ 


-o—+ih 


232  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


But  the  eldest  !  O  Father,  how  glorious  he  was, 

With  the  soul  looking  out  through  his  fountain-like 
eyes ! 

Thou  lovest  thy  Sole-born !  and  had  I  not  cause 
The  treasure  thou  gavest  me,  Father,  to  prize  ? 


But  the  lily  bed  lies  beaten  down  by  the  rain, 

And  the  tallest  is  gone  from  the  place  where  he  grew  ; 

My  tallest,  my  fairest,  oh  let  me  complain  ! 

For   all   Hfe   is    unroofed,   and    the   tempests    beat 
through. 

I  murmur  not,  Father,  my  will  is  with  thee  ; 

I  knew  at  the  first  that  my  darling  was  thine : 
Hadst  thou  taken  him  earlier,  O  Father !  but  see. 

Thou  hadst  left  him  so  long  that  I  dreamed  he  was 
mine. 

Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest :  he  was  fairest  to  me  ; 

Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest :  'tis  always  thy  way  ; 
Thou  hast  taken  the  dearest :  was  he  dearest  to  thee  t 

Thou  art  welcome,  thrice  welcome,  yet  woe  is  the 
day. 

Thou  hast  honored  my  child  with  the  speed  of  thy 
choice, 
Thou   hast  crowned  him  with  glory,  o'erwhelmed 
him  with  mirth  ; 
He    sings    up    in    heaven,    with    his    sweet-sounding 
voice. 
While  I,  a  saint's  mother,  am  weeping  on  earth. 


-iH — 0 . « — Mh 


■o—Bb 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  233 

Yet   oh   for   that  voice,   which    is    thrilhng   through 
heaven, 

One  moment  my  ears  with  its  music  to  slake ; 
Oh  no  !  not  for  worlds  would  I  have  him  regiven, 

Yet  I  long  to  have  back  what  I  would  not  retake. 

I  grudge  him,  and  grudge  him   not  !      Father,  thou 
knowest. 

The  foolish  confusions  of  innocent  sorrow  ; 
It  is  thus  in  thy  husbandry,  Saviour :  thou  sowest 

The  grief  of  to-day  for  the  grace  of  to-morrow. 

Thou  art  blooming  in  heaven,  my  blossom,  my  pride  ! 

And  thy  beauty  makes    Jesus,  thy  Saviour,  more 
glad; 
Saints'  mothers  have  sung  when  their  eldest-born  died  ; 

Oh  why,  my  own  saint,  is  thy  mother  so  sad ! 

Oh  forgive  me,  dear  Saviour  !  on  heaven's  bright  shore, 
Should  I  still  in  my  child  find  a  separate  joy ; 

While  I  lie  in  the  light  of  thy  face  evermore. 

May  I  think  heaven  brighter  because  of  my  boy  ? 

1862.  F.  W.  Faber. 


IN    MEMORIAM    E- 


T  TOW  calm,  how  beautiful,  he  lies  ! 

-^  -^     'Neath  drooping  fringes  shine  his  eyes. 

Like  stars  in  half-eclipse  ; 
As  sunlight,  falls  his  wavy  hair 
Across  that  noble  brow,  so  fair 
That  the  blue  veins  seem  pencilled  there, 

And  curved  by  art  those  lips. 


234  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

No  quivering  of  the  lid  or  chin 
Betrays  the  final  strife  within  ; 

So  noiseless  sinks  his  breath, 
That,  if  those  cheeks  did  not  disclose 
Life's  current  in  the  tint  of  rose 
That,  like  a  bright  thought,  comes  and  goes, 

This  would  seem  beauteous  death. 

Already  is  the  stain  of  earth  — 
The  stamp  of  his  terrestrial  birth  — 

Changing  for  heaven's  pure  seal : 
The  angel's  beauty  now  I  see 
Pledged  in  that  sweet  serenity ; 
And  that  unearthly  smile  to  me 

God's  signet  doth  reveal. 

But  even  here  his  guileless  life. 
His  path  with  only  flowerets  rife. 

Almost  a  cherub's  seemed  : 
He  knew  no  change  from  light  to  shade. 
His  soul  its  own  glad  sunshine  made ; 
Where'er  he  paused,  where'er  he  strayed, 

Light  all  around  him  beamed. 

If  such  hath  been  his  life's  first  dawn, 
Oh  what  will  be  the  glorious  morn 

Just  opening  on  his  soul ! 
Favored  of  heaven  !  to  wear  the  crown, 
Life's  weary  race  to  thee  unknown, 
And  sit  with  laurelled  conquerors  down. 

Who  toiled  to  reach  the  goal. 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  235 

But  fading  is  that  roseate  hue ; 
And  now,  cold,  pearly  drops  bedew 

That  brow  of  heavenly  mould  ; 
Fainter  and  fainter  grows  his  breath  : 
Ah,  now  'tis  gone  !  can  this  be  death  ? 
Oh  what  so  fair  the  heavens  beneath, 

So  lovely  to  behold  ! 

[849.  Mrs.  E.  C.   Kinney. 


OUR       BABY. 

npO-DAY  we  cut  the  fragrant  sod, 

-^       With  trembling  hands,  asunder, 
And  lay  this  well-beloved  of  God, 

Our  dear,  dead  baby  under. 
O  hearts  that  ache,  and  ache  afresh ! 

O  tears  too  blindly  raining ! 
Our  hearts  are  weak,  yet,  being  flesh, 

Too  strong  for  our  restraining  ! 

Sleep,  darling,  sleep !     Cold  rain  shall  steep 

Thy  little  turf-made  dwelling  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  know,  so  far  below. 

What  winds  or  storms  are  swelling ; 
And  birds  shall  sing  in  the  warm  spring, 

And  flowers  bloom  about  thee : 
Thou  wilt  not  heed  them,  love  ;  but  oh, 

The  loneliness  without  thee  ! 

Father,  we  will  be  comforted  ! 

Thou  wast  the  gracious  Giver  ; 
We  yield  her  up,  not  dead,  not  dead, 

To  dwell  with  thee  for  ever ! 


^M — 0- 


\3^  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Take  thou  our  child,  ours  for  a  day, 
Thine  while  the  ages  blossom  ! 

This  little  shining  head  we  lay 
In  the  Redeemer's  bosom ! 


FROM  "A  CHILD'S  GRAVE  AT  FLORENCE." 

TDOOR  earth,  poor  heart,  —  too  weak,  too  weak 
^        To  miss  the  July  shining  ! 
Poor  heart !  what  bitter  words  we  speak, 
When  God  speaks  of  resigning ! 

Sustain  this  heart  in  us  that  faints, 

Thou  God,  the  self-existent ! 
We  catch  up  wild  at  parting  saints. 

And  feel  thy  heaven  too  distant. 

The  wind  that  swept  them  out  of  sin 

Has  ruffled  all  our  vesture : 
On  the  shut  door  that  let  them  in, 

We  beat  with  frantic  gesture,  — 

To  us,  us  also,  open  straight ! 

The  outer  life  is  chilly  ! 
Are  we  too,  like  the  earth,  to  wait 

Till  next  year  for  our  Lily  t 

But  God  gives  patience.  Love  learns  strength, 

And  Faith  remembers  promise. 
And  Hope  itself  can  smile  at  length. 

On  other  hopes  gone  from  us. 


-0 — Hi 


SOA'GS  OF  SORROW.  2^7 

Love,  strong  as  Death,  shall  conquer  Death, 
Through  struggle  made  more  glorious  : 

This  mother  stills  her  sobbing  breath, 
Renouncing,  yet  victorious. 

Arms,  empty  of  her  child,  she  lifts 

With  spirit  unbereaven,  — 
"  God  will  not  all  take  back  his  gifts, 

My  Lily's  mine  in  heaven  ! 

"  Still  mine  !  maternal  rights  serene 

Not  given  to  another  ! 
The  crystal  bars  shine  faint  between 

The  souls  of  child  and  mother. 

"  Meanwhile,"  the  mother  cries,  "  content ! 

Our  love  was  well  divided  : 
Its  sweetness  following  where  she  went, 

Its  anguish  stayed  where  I  did. 

"  Well  done  of  God,  to  halve  the  lot, 

And  give  her  all  the  sweetness ; 
To  us  the  empty  room  and  cot,  — 

To  her  the  heaven's  completeness. 

"  To  us,  this  grave,  —  to  her,  the  rows 

The  mystic  palm-trees  spring  in  ; 
To  us,  the  silence  in  the  house,  — 

To  her  the  choral  singing. 

"  For  her,  to  gladden  in  God's  view,  — 

For  us,  to  hope  and  bear  on. 
Grow,  Lily,  in  thy  garden  new. 

Beside  the  Rose  of  Sharon  ! 


238  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

"  Grow  fast  in  heaven,  sweet  Lily  clipped, 

In  love  more  calm  than  this  is, 
And  may  the  angels,  dewy-lipped. 

Remind  thee  of  our  kisses, 

"While  none  shall  tell  thee  of  our  tears, 
These  human  tears  now  falling. 

Till  after  a  few  patient  years, 
One  home  shall  take  us  all  in. 

"  Child,  father,  mother,  —  who  left  out  ? 

Not  mother  and  not  father  ! 
And  when,  our  dying  couch  about, 

The  natural  mists  shall  gather, 

*'  Some  smiling  angel  close  shall  stand 

In  old  Correggio's  fashion. 
And  bear  a  Lily  in  his  hand 

For  death's  Annunciation  !  " 

1849.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


RESIGNATION. 

^  I  ^HERE  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

-■-       But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 
But  has  one  vacant  chair ! 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying 

And  mournings  for  the  dead  : 
The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 

Will  not  be  comforted  ! 


IH — ^ 


-0 — H>: 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  239 

Let  us  be  patient !     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise ; 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors, 

Amid  these  earthly  damps  : 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers, 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  death  !     What  seems  so  is  transition  : 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  Elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  death. 

She  is  not  dead,  —  the  child  of  our  affection,  — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion, 

By  guardian  angels  led. 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  frorn  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives  whom  we  call  dead. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air  ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  Nature  gives  ; 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  unspoken, 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 


240  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her : 

For  when,  with  raptures  wild, 
In  our  embraces  we  again  infold  her. 

She  will  not  be  a  child  ; 

But  a  fair  maiden  in  her  Father's  mansion. 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 
And,  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion, 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed. 
The  swelling  heart  heaves,  moaning  like  the  ocean, 

That  cannot  be  at  rest,  — 

We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing. 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 

1852.  H.  W.  Longfellow. 


AH!    HUSH    NOW  YOUR   MOURNFUL 
COMPLAININGS. 

{yajn  incBsta  quiesce  querela^ 

\   H  !  hush  now  your  mournful  complainings, 
^^-^     Nor,  mothers,  your  sweet  babes  deplore  : 
This  death  we  so  shrink  from,  but  cometh 
The  ruin  of  life  to  restore. 

Who  now  would  the  sculptor's  rich  marble, 

Or  beautiful  sepulchres  crave  ? 
We  lay  them  but  here  in  their  slumber : 

This  earth  is  a  couch,  not  a  grave. 


■^ — Mj 


# 


SOiVGS  OF  SORROW.  24 1 

This  body  a  desolate  casket, 

Deprived  of  its  jewel  we  see; 
But  soon  her  old  colleague  rejoining, 

The  soul  reunited  shall  be. 

For  quickly  the  day  is  approaching, 

When  life  through  these  cold  limbs  shall  flow. 
And  the  dwelling,  restored  to  its  inmate, 

With  its  old  animation  shall  glow. 

The  body  we  lay  in  dishonor 

In  the  mouldering  tomb  to  decay. 
Rejoined  to  the  spirit  which  dwelt  there, 

Shall  soar  like  a  swift  bird  away. 

The  seed  which  we  sow  in  its  weakness. 

In  the  spring  shall  rise  green  from  the  earth ; 

And  the  dead  we  thus  mournfully  bury, 

In  God's  springtime  again  shall  shine  forth. 

Mother  Earth,  in  thy  soft  bosom  cherish 
W'hom  we  lay  to  repose  in  thy  dust ; 

For  precious  these  relics  we  yield  thee : 
Be  faithful,  O  Earth,  to  thy  trust ! 

This  once  was  the  home  of  a  spirit. 
Created  and  breathed  from  its  God  ; 

The  wisdom  and  love  Christ  imparteth. 
Once  held  in  this  frame  their  abode. 

Then  shelter  this  sacred  deposit ; 

Their  Maker  will  claim  it  of  thee ; 
The  Sculptor  will  never  forget  it, 

Once  formed  in  his  image  to  be. 
16 


■iH — 0- 


242  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

The  happy  and  just  times  are  coming, 
When  he  every  hope  shall  fulfil, 

And  visibly  then  thou  must  render. 
What  now,  in  thy  keeping,  lies  still. 

For  though,  through  the^slow  lapse  of  ages, 
These  mouldering  bones  shall  grow  old  ; 

Reduced  to  a  handful  of  ashes, 
A  child  in  its  hands  might  infold  ; 

Though  flames  should  consume  it,  and  breezes 

Invisibly  float  it  away. 
Yet  the  body  of  man  cannot  perish  ;  — 

Indestructible  through  its  decay. 

Yet  whilst,  O  our  God,  o'er  the  body 
Thou  watchest,  to  mould  it  again. 

What  region  of  rest  hast  thou  ordered, 
Where  the  spirit  unclothed  may  remain  ? 

In  the  bosom  of  saints  is  her  dwelling, 
Where  the  Fathers  and  Lazarus  are, 

Whom  the  rich  man,  athirst  in  his  anguish, 
Beheld  in  their  bliss  from  afar. 

We  follow  thy  words,  O  Redeemer, 

When,  trampling  on  Death  in  his  pride, 

Thou  sentest  to  tread  in  thy  footsteps 
The  thief  on  the  cross  at  thy  side. 

The  bright  way  of  Paradise  opened 
For  every  believer  her  space ;     ' 

And  that  garden  again  we  may  enter. 

Which  the  serpent  once  closed  to  our  race. 


-^—fih 


SONGS  OF  SORROW.  243 

Thus  violets  sweet,  and  green  branches, 

Oft  over  these  relics  we  strew ; 
The  names,  on  these  cold  stones  engraven, 

With  perfumes  we'll  fondly  bedew. 

Prudkntius,  trans,  bv  Mrs.  Charlb.s 


WRITTEN    TO    A    FRIEND    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 
HIS   SISTER. 


^  I  ^HINE  is  a  grief,  the  depth  of  which  another 

-*-  May  never  know  ; 

Yet  o'er  the  waters,  O  my  stricken  brother, 
To  thee  I  go. 


I  lean  my  heart  unto  thee,  sadly  folding 

Thy  hand  in  mine  ; 
With  even  the  weakness  of  my  soul  upholding 

The  strength  of  thine. 

I  never  knew,  like  thee,  the  dear  departed  ; 

I  stood  not  by. 
When,  in  calm  trust,  the  pure  and  tranquil-hearted, 

Lay  down  to  die. 

And  on  thy  ear  my  words  of  weak  condoling 

Must  vainly  fall : 
The  funeral  bell  which  in  thy  heart  is  tolhng, 

Sounds  over  all ! 


244  SOjVGS  of   the   soul. 

I  will  not  mock  thee  with  the  world's  poor,  common, 

And  heartless  phrase ; 
Nor  wrong  the  memory  of  a  sainted  woman 

With  idle  praise. 

With  silence  only  as  their  benediction 

God's  angels  come, 
Where,  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  affliction, 

The  soul  sits  dumb  ! 

Yet  would  I  say  what  thy  own  heart  approveth : 

Our  Father's  will, 
Calling  to  him  the  dear  one  whom  he  loveth. 

Is  mercy  still. 

Not  upon  thee  or  thine  the  solemn  angel 

Hath  evil  wrought : 
Her  funeral  anthem  is  a  glad  evangel ; 

The  good  die  not ! 

God  calls  our  loved  ones,  but  we  lose  not  wholly 

What  he  hath  given  ; 
They  live  on  earth,  in  thought  and  deed,  as  truly 

As  his  in  heaven. 

And  she  is  with  thee !     In  thy  path  of  trial 

She  walketh  yet ! 
Still,  with  the  baptism  of  thy  self-denial, 

Her  locks  are  wet. 

Up,  then,  my  brother !     Lo,  the  fields  of  harvest 

Lie  white  in  view  ! 
She  lives  and  loves,  and  the  God  thou  servest 

To  both  is  true. 


SOA'GS  OF  SORROW.  245 

Thrust  in  thy  sickle  !     England's  toil-worn  peasants 

Thy  call  abide ; 
And  she  thou  mournest,  a  pure  and  holy  presence, 

Shall  glean  beside  I 

John-  G.  Whittier 


FROM   "ONLY   A   CURL." 

"  C~^  OD  lent  him  and  takes  him,"  you  sigh ; 

^-^     Nay,  there  let  me  break  with  your  pain  : 
God's  generous  in  giving,  say  I, 
And  the  thing  which  he  gives,  I  deny 

That  he  ever  can  take  back  again. 

He  is  ours  and  for  ever  !     Believe, 

O  father  I  O  mother  I  look  back 
To  the  first  love's  assurance  !    To  give 
Means  with  God,  not  to  tempt  or  deceive 

With  a  cup  thrust  in  Benjamin's  sack. 

He  gives  what  he  gives.     Be  content ! 

He  resumes  nothing  given,  be  sure ! 
God  lend  .•'     Where  the  usurers  lent 
In  his  temple,  indignant  he  went 

And  scourged  away  all  those  impure. 

He  lends  not,  but  gives  to  the  end, 
As  he  loves  to  the  end  !     If  it  seem 

That  he  draws  back  a  gift,  comprehend 

'Tis  to  add  to  it  rather,  amend, 
And  finish  it  up  to  your  dream. 


I.IPI.     0 0— w 

246  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Or  keep,  as  a  mother  will  toys 

Too  costly,  though  given  by  herself,  — 
Till  the  room  shall  be  stiller  from  noise. 
And  the  children  more  fit  for  such  joys. 
Kept  over  their  heads  on  the  shelf. 

So  look  up,  friends  !     You,  who  indeed 

Have  possessed  in  your  house  a  sweet  piece 
Of  the  heaven  which  men  strive  for,  must  need 
Be  more  earnest  than  others  are  :  speed 
Where  they  loiter,  persist  when  they  cease. 

You  know  how  one  -angel  smiles  there  : 

Then  weep  not.     'Tis  easy  for  you 
To  be  drawn  by  a  single  gold  hair 
Of  that  curl,  from  earth's  storm  and  despair, 

To  the  safe  place  above  us.     Adieu  ! 

1862.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


THEY  ARE   ALL   GONE    INTO   A   WORLD    OF 
LIGHT. 

'  I  ^HEY  are  all  gone  into  a  world  of  light ! 

-■-       And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here. 

Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 

And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest, 
After  the  sun's  remove. 


SOA'GS   OF  SORROIV.  247 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days,  — 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary. 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  hope  !  and  high  humility  ! 

High  as  the  heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  showed  them  me 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death,  the  jewel  of  the  just ! 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark  ; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest,  may 
know 
At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So    some   strange  thoughts   transcend  our  wonted 
themes. 
And  into  glory  peep. 

If  a  star  were  confined  into  a  tomb. 

Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there  ; 
But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gives  room, 
She'll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 


-0— 1^^ 


f 


-0 — H^ 


248  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  thee  ! 
Resume  thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty ! 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  fill 

My  perspective  still  as  they  pass  ; 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  Hill 
Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

1654.  Henry  Vaughan. 


-0 — Hi; 


^H — « 0 — R» 


SONGS   OUT   OF   THE   DEPTHS. 


>J«<c 


HYMN      TO      GOD. 


TTEAR  me,  O  God ! 

-*■-■-     A  broken  heart 
Is  my  best  part ; 

Use  still  thy  rod, 
That  I  may  prove 
Therein  thy  love. 

If  thou  had' St  not 
Been  stern  to  me, 
But  left  me  free, 

I  had  forgot 

Myself  and  thee. 

For  sin's  so  sweet, 
As  minds  ill  bent 
Rarely  repent. 

Until  they  meet 
Their  punishment. 


252  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Who  more  can  crave 

Than  thou  hast  done  ? 

That  gav'st  a  Son 
To  free  a  slave, 

First  made  of  nought, 

With  all  since  bought. 

Sin,  death,  and  hell 

His  glorious  name 

Quite  overcame ; 
Yet  I  rebel. 

And  slight  the  same. 

But  I'll  come  in, 

Before  my  loss 

Me  farther  toss, 
As  sure  to  win 

Under  his  cross. 

1637,  Ben  Jonson. 


PRAYER    IN  THE    PROSPECT    OF    DEATH. 

'\  T  TTIY  am  I  loath  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 

^  ^       Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing  charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  joy  with  draughts  of  ill  between, 
Some  gleams  of  sunshine  'mid  renewing  storms  : 
Is  it  departing  pangs  my  soul  alarms  ? 
Or  death's  unlovely,  dreary,  dark  abode  ? 

For  guilt,  for  guilt  my  terrors  are  in  arms  ! 
I  tremble  to  approach  an  angry  God, 
And  justly  smart  beneath  his  sin-avenging  rod ! 


0—4* 

sojVGs  out  of  the  depths.  253 

Fain  would  I  say,  "  Forgive  my  foul  offence," 

Fain  promise  nevermore  to  disobey ; 
But,  should  my  Author  health  again  dispense, 

Again  I  might  desert  fair  virtue's  way ; 

Again  in  folly's  path  might  go  astray ; 
Again  exalt  the  brute  and  sink  the  man ; 

Then  how  should  I  for  heavenly  mercy  pray. 
Who  act  so  counter  heavenly  mercy's  plan  ! 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourned,  yet  to  temptation  ran  ! 

O  thou  great  Governor  of  all  below ! 

If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  thee  ; 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  tempest  cease  to  blow. 

Or  still  the  tumult  of  the  raging  sea  : 

With  that  controlling  power  assist  even  me 
Those  headlong,  furious  passions  to  confine  ; 

For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  powers  to  be 
To  rule  their  torrent  in  the  allowed  line : 
Oh  aid  me  with  thy  help.  Omnipotence  Divine ! 

1786.  Robert  Burns. 


DE   PROFUNDIS    CLAMAVI. 

T  TP  from  the  deeps,  O  God,  I  cry  to  thee ! 
^^      Hear  the  soul's  prayer,  hear  thou  her  htany, 
O  thou  who  sayest,  "  Come,  wanderer,  home  to  me." 

Up  from  the  deeps  of  sorrow,  wherein  lie 
Dark  secrets  veiled  from  earth's  unpitying  eye, 
My  prayers,  like  star-crowned  angels,  Godward  fly. 


254  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Up  from  the  deeps  of  joy,  deep  tides  that  swell 
With  fulness  that  the  heart  can  never  tell, 
Thanks  shall  ring  clear  as  rings  a  festal  bell. 

From  the  calm  bosom,  when  in  quiet  hour 
God's  Holy  Spirit  reigns  with  largest  power. 
Then  shall  each  thought  in  prayer's  white  blossom 
flower. 

From  the  dark  mine,  where  slow  thoughts'  diamond 

burns, 
Where  the  gold-spirits  vein  their  rugged  urns, 
From  that  grim  Cyclop-forge  my  spirit  turns, 

And  gazes  upward  at  thy  clear  blue  sky. 
And,  midst  the  light  that  floods  it,  does  espy 
Bright  stars  unseen  by  superficial  eye  ; 

Where  Sin's  red  dragons  lie  in  caverns  deep, 
And  glare  with  stony  eyes  that  never  sleep. 
And  o'er  the  heavenly  fruit  strict  ward  do  keep ; 

Thence  my  poor  heart,  long  struggling  to  get  free, 
Torn  by  the  strife,  in  painful  agony, 
Crieth,  O  God,  my  God,  deliver  me  ! 

Up  from  the  thickest  tumult  of  the  game. 
Where  spring  life's  arrows  with  unerring  aim, 
My  shaft  of  prayer,  Acestes-like,  shall  flame. 

Not  from  life's  shallows,  where  the  waters  sleep, 
A  dull,  low  marsh,  where  stagnant  vapors  creep, 
But  ocean-voiced,  deep  calling  unto  deep, 


SOA^GS   OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  255 

As  he  of  old,  King  David,  called  to  thee, 
As  cries  the  heart  of  poor  humanity, 
"  Clamavi,  Domine,  exaudi  me  !  " 

C.  S.  Fenner. 


WITH   TERROR   THOU    DOST    STRIKE.* 

(Gravi  me  terrore  pulsus,  vita  dies  tiltijna.) 

"TT  7ITH  terror  thou  dost  strike  me  now,  life's  fear- 

^  ^       ful  dying  day  ! 
My  heart  is  sad,  my  loins  are  weak,  my  spirit  faints 

away, 
While,  to  my  saddened  soul,  thy  sight  my  anxious 

thoughts  display. 

Who    can    that   dreadful   sight   describe,  or  without 

trembling  see. 
When  from  the  ended  course  of  life  the  weary  soul 

would  flee, 
And,  sick  of  all  the  bonds  of  flesh,  it  struggles  to  be 

free  1 

The  senses  fail,  the  tongue  is  stiff,  the  eyes  uncertain 

stray  ; 
The  panting  breath,  the  gasping  throat,  the  coming 

end  betray  ; 
From  palsied  limbs,  and  palUd  lips,  all  charm  has  fled 

away. 


r«H— 0- 


256  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

Now  spring  at  once  to  view  past  thoughts,  and  words. 

and  deeds,  and  Hfe  ; 
Before  unwilUng  eyes  they  come  all  crowding  fresh 

and  rife, 
And   stand   revealed  before   the  mind,   that  shrinks 

with  timid  strife. 

And   biting   conscience   tortures  now  the  trembling, 

guilty  breast. 
And   weeps  the  loss   of  perished  hours,  that   might 

have  given  rest  : 
Too  late  repentance,  full  of  grief,  no  proper  fruit  has 

blessed. 

Of  the  false  sweetness  of  the  flesh,  what  bitterness 
remains, 

When  the  brief  pleasure  of  this  life  is  turned  to  end- 
less pains, 

And  all  life's  idols  here  below  the  dying  hour  dis- 
dains ! 

I  pray,  dear  Jesus,  grant  me,  then,  thine  own  almighty 
aid. 

When  I  shall  enter  at  the  last  in  death's  dark  valley 
shade  ; 

Let  not  the  tyrant  foe,  I  pray,  my  trembling  soul  in- 
vade. 

Oh,  from  the  prince  of  darkness,  then,  and  hell's  dark 

prison  save  ! 
And  take  me  ransomed  to  thy  home,  Good  Shepherd, 

now  I  crave, 
Where  I  may  live  in  endless  life,  with  thee,  beyond 

the  grave ! 

1072.  Cardinal  Damiani,  trans,  by  E.  C.  Benedict. 


4H — 0- 


ri^l— 0 O-M] 

SONGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  257 


A' 


AM    I   A   STONE? 

Mia  stone,  and  not  a  sheep, 

That  I  can  stand,  O  Christ,  beneath 
thy  cross, 
To  number,  drop  by  drop,  thy  blood's  slow  loss, 
And  yet  not  weep  ? 

Not  so  those  women  loved. 
Who  with  exceeding  grief  lamented  thee  ; 
Not  so  fallen  Peter,  weeping  bitterly  ; 

Not  so  the  thief  was  moved  ; 

Not  so  the  sun  and  moon. 
Which  hid  their  faces  in  a  starless  sky, 
A  horror  of  great  darkness  at  broad  noon,  — 

I,  only  I ! 

Yet  give  not  o'er. 
But  seek  thy  sheep,  true  Shepherd  of  the  flock  ; 
Greater  than  Moses,  turn  and  look  once  more. 

And  smite  a  rock  ! 

1866.  Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


JESUS,   PITYING    SAVIOUR,    HEAR   ME. 

TESUS,  pitying  Saviour,  hear  me  ; 
^      Draw  thou  near  me  ; 

Turn  thee.  Lord,  in  grace  to  me. 
For  thou  knowest  all  my  sorrow  ; 
Night  and  morrow 
Doth  my  cry  go  up  to  thee. 
17 


258  SOiVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Peace  I  cannot  find  :  oh,  take  me, 
Lord,  and  make  me 
From  the  yoke  of  evil  free  ; 
Calm  this  longing  never-sleeping, 
Still  my  weeping, 
Grant  me  hope  once  more  in  thee. 

Thou,  my  God  and  King,  hast  known  me. 
Yet  hast  shown  me 
True  and  loving  is  thy  will ; 
Though  my  heart  from  thee  oft  ranges, 
Through  its  changes, 
Lord,  thy  love  is  faithful  still. 

Here  I  bring  my  will,  oh  take  it ; 
Thine,  Lord,  make  it ; 
Calm  this  troubled  heart  of  mine  : 
In  thy  strength  I  too  may  conquer  ; 
Wait  no  longer ; 
Show  in  me  thy  grace  divine. 

Gerhakdt  Tersteecen. 


MY    SINS,    MY    SINS,    MY    SAVIOUR  ! 

"|\ /TY  sins,  my  sins,  my  Saviour ! 
^^     They  take  such  hold  on  me, 
I  am  not  able  to  look  up. 

Save  only,  Christ,  to  thee : 
In  thee  is  all  forgiveness. 

In  thee  abundant  grace  ; 
My  shadow  and  my  sunshine, 

The  brightness  of  thy  face. 


■O — H» 


d^H—O- 


SO.VGS   OUT  OF   THE   DEPTHS.  259 

My  sins,  my  sins,  my  Saviour ! 

How  sad  on  thee  they  fall ! 
Seen  through  thy  gentle  patience, 

I  tenfold  feel  them  all. 
I  know  they  are  forgiven  ; 

But  still,  their  pain  to  me 
Is  all  the  grief  and  anguish 

They  laid,  my  Lord,  on  thee. 

My  sins,  my  sins,  my  Saviour ! 

Their  guilt  I  never  knew. 
Till,  with  thee  in  the  desert, 

I  near  thy  passion  drew,  — 
Till,  with  thee  in  the  garden, 

I  heard  thy  pleading  prayer, 
And  saw  the  sweat-drops  bloody 

That  told  thy  sorrow  there. 

Therefore  my  songs,  my  Saviour, 

E'en  in  this  time  of  woe, 
Shall  tell  of  all  thy  goodness 

To  suffering  man  below,  — 
Thy  goodness  and  thy  favor, 

Whose  presence,  from  above. 
Rejoice  those  hearts,  my  Saviour, 

That  live  in  thee,  and  love ! 

1863.  J,    S.    B.    MONSELL. 


260  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


LORD,    MANY   TIMES    I    AM   AWEARY   QUITE. 

T    ORD,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite 
-^^     Of  mine  own  self,  my  sin,  my  vanity ; 
Yet  be  not  thou,  or  I  am  lost  outright, 
Weary  of  me ! 

And  hate  against  myself  I  often  bear, 

And  enter  with  myself  in  fierce  debate  : 
Take  thou  my  part  against  myself,  nor  share 
In  that  just  hate. 

Best  friends  might  loathe  us,  if  what  things  perverse, 

We  know  of  our  own  selves,  they  also  knew ; 
Lord,  Holy  One !  if  thou  who  knowest  worse. 
Should  loathe  us  too  ! 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


CHURCH-LOCK    AND    KEY. 

T  KNOW  it  is  my  sinne  which  locks  thine  eares, 
-*-         And  bindes  thy  hands  ! 
Out-crying  my  requests,  drowning  my  tears ; 
Or  else  the  chilnesse  of  my  faint  demands. 

But  as  cold  hands  are  angrie  with  the  fire, 

And  mend  it  still : 
So  I  do  lay  the  want  of  my  desire, 

Not  on  my  sinnes,  or  coldnesse,  but  thy  will. 


# 


SONGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  261 

Yet  heare,  O  God,  onely  for  his  bloud's  sake, 

Which  pleads  for  me  : 
For  though  sinnes  plead  too,  yet  like  stones  they  make 
His  bloud's  sweet  current  much  more  loud  to  be. 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


SIGHS   AND   GROANS. 

OH  do  not  use  me 
After  my  sins  !  look  not  on  my  desert, 
But  on  thy  glory  ;  then  thou  wilt  reform, 
And  not  refuse  me.     For  thou  only  art 
The  mighty  God  ;  but  I,  a  silly  worm  : 
Oh  do  not  bruise  me ! 

Oh  do  not  urge  me ! 
For  what  account  can  thy  ill  steward  make } 

I  have  abused  thy  stock,  destroyed  thy  woods. 
Sucked  all  thy  magazines.     My  head  did  ache 
Till  it  found  out  how  to  consume  thy  goods  : 
Oh  do  not  scourge  me ! 

Oh  do  not  bhnd  me ! 
I  have  deserved  that  an  Egyptian  night 

Should  thicken  all  my  powers,  because  my  lust 
Hath  still  sewed  fig-leaves  to  exclude  thy  light. 
But  I  am  frailty,  and  already  dust  ; 
Oh  do  not  grind  me  ! 

Oh  do  not  fill  me 
With  the  turned  vial  of  thy  bitter  wrath  ; 
For  thou  hast  other  vessels,  full  of  blood, 


262  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

A  part  whereof  my  Saviour  emptied  hath, 

Even  unto  death.     Since  he  died  for  my  good, 
Oh  do  not  kill  me ! 

But  oh  reprieve  me  ! 
P'or  thou  hast  life  and  death  at  thy  command  ; 

Thou  art  both  Judge  and  Saviour,  Feast  and  Rod, 
Cordial  and  Corrosive.     Put  not  thy  hand 
Into  the  bitter  box  ;  but,  O  my  God, 
My  God,  relieve  me  ! 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


LORD,    WITH    WHAT    CARE    HAST    THOU    BEGIRT 
US    ROUND ! 

T    ORD,  with  what  care  hast  thou  begirt  us  round  ! 
•^^-^     Parents  first  season  us  :  then  schoolmasters 
Deliver  us  to  laws  ;  they  send  us  bound 
To  rules  of  reason,  holy  messengers. 

Pulpits  and  Sundays,  sorrow  dogging  sin, 

Afflictions  sorted,  anguish  of  all  sizes, 
P'ine  nets  and  stratagems  to  catch  us  in. 

Bibles  laid  open,  millions  of  surprises. 

Blessings  beforehand,  ties  of  gratefulness. 
The  sound  of  glory  ringing  in  our  ears  ; 

Without,  our  shame  —  within,  our  consciences  ; 
Angels  and  grace,  eternal  hopes  and  fears : 

Yet  all  these  fences,  and  their  whole  array. 
One  cunning  bosom-sin  blows  quite  away. 

1632.  George  H£rbekt. 


r«tf— 0- 


SONGS   OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  263 

LORD,   WHAT   AM   I? 

{F?-o?n  the  Spanish.) 

T    ORD,  what  am  I,  that,  with  unceasing  care, 
-"-^     Thou  didst  seek  after  me  ?  that  thou  didst  wait, 

Wet  with  unhealthy  dews,  before  my  gate, 
And  pass  the  gloomy  nights  of  winter  there  ? 

Oh,  strange  delusion,  that  I  did  not  greet 

Thy  blessed  approach  !  and  oh  to  heaven  how  lost, 
In  my  ingratitude's  untimely  frost 

Has  chilled  the  bleeding  wound  upon  thy  feet ! 

How  oft  my  guardian-angel  gently  cried, 

"  Soul,  from  thy  casement  look,  and  thou  shalt  see 
How  he  persists  to  knock  and  wait  for  thee  ! " 
And  oh,  how  often  to  that  voice  of  sorrow, 
"  To-morrow  we  will  open,"  I  replied  ; 
And  when  to-morrow  came,  I  answered  still,  "To- 
morrow .  Lqp^  jjg  Vega,  trans,  by  Longfellow. 


THE   METHOD. 

"pOORE  heart,  lament ! 
■^        For  since  thy  God  refuseth  still, 
There  is  some  rub,  some  discontent 
Which  cools  "his  will. 

Thy  Father  could 
Quickly  effect  what  thou  dost  move  ; 
For  he  is  Power :  and  sure  he  would; 

For  he  is  Love. 


264  SOA'GS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

Go  search  this  thing, 
Tumble  thy  breast,  and  turn  thy  book  : 
If  thou  hadst  lost  a  glove  or  ring, 

Wouldst  not  thou  look  ? 

What  do  I  see 
Written  above  there  ?      Yesterday 
I  did  behave  me  carelessly y 

When  I  did  pray. 

And  should  God's  care 
To  such  indifferents  chained  be, 
Who  do  not  their  own  motions  heare  ? 

Is  God  lesse  free  ? 

But  stay  !  what's  there  ? 
Late  when  I  would  have  something  done^ 
I  had  a  motiojt  to  forbear^ 
Yet  I  went  on. 

And  should  God's  eare. 
Which  needs  not  man,  be  tyed  to  those 
Who  heare  not  him,  but  quickly  heare 

His  utter  foes  ? 

Then  once  more  pray  : 
Down  with  thy  knees,^up  with  thy  voice  : 
Seek  pardon  first,  and  God  will  say, 

Glad  heart,  rejoyce  ! 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


^H— ^- 


SONGS   OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS,  26$ 


SELF-LOVE. 

H  !  I  could  go  through  all  life's  troubles  singing, 
Turning  earth's  night  to  day, 
If  self  were  not  so  fast  around  me  clinging, 
To  all  I  do  or  say. 


o 


My  very  thoughts  are  selfish,  always  building 

Mean  castles  in  the  air ; 
I  use  my  love  for  others  for  a  gilding 

To  make  myself  look  fair. 

I  fancy  all  the  world  engrossed  with  judging 

My  merit  or  my  blame  ; 
Its  warmest  praise  seems  an  ungracious  grudging 

Of  praise  which  I  might  claim. 

In  youth,  or  age,  by  city,  wood,  or  mountain, 

Self  is  forgotten  never  ; 
Where'er  we  tread,  it  gushes  like  a  fountain,  — 

Its  waters  flow  for  ever. 

Alas !  no  speed  in  life  can  snatch  us  wholly 

Out  of  self's  hateful  sight ; 
And  it  keeps  step  whene'er  we  travel  slowly, 

And  sleeps  with  us  at  night. 

No  grief's  sharp  knife,  no  pain's  most  cruel  sawing, 

Self  and  the  soul  can  sever  ; 
The  surface,  that  in  joy  sometimes  seems  thawing, 

Soon  freezes  worse  than  ever. 


266  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Thus  are  we  never  men,  self's  wretched  swathing 

Not  letting  virtue  swell ; 
Thus  is  our  whole  life  numbed,  for  ever  bathing 

Within  this  frozen  well. 

O  miserable  omnipresence,  stretching 

Over  all  time  and  space, 
How  have  I  run  from  thee,  yet  found  thee  reaching 

The  goal  in  every  race ! 

Inevitable  self  !  vile  imitation 

Of  universal  light,  — 
Within  our  hearts  a  dreadful  usurpation 

Of  God's  exclusive  right ! 

The  opiate  balms  of  grace  may  haply  still  thee, 

Deep  in  my  nature  lying ; 
For  I  may  hardly  hope,  alas  !  to  kill  thee, 

Save  by  the  act  of  dying. 

O  Lord,  that  I  could  waste  my  life  for  others. 

With  no  ends  of  my  own  ! 
That  I  could  pour  myself  into  my  brothers, 

And  live  for  them  alone  ! 

Such  was  the  life  thou  livedest ;  self -abjuring, 

Thine  own  pains  never  easing. 
Our  burdens  bearing,  our  just  doom  enduring, 

A  life  without  self-pleasing. 

1862.  F.  W,   Faber. 


^H— 0- 


SOJVGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  267 


OH    FOR   THE   HAPPY    DAYS    GONE   BY  ! 

/^^H  for  the  happy  days  gone  by, 
^-^     When  love  ran  smooth  and  free,  — 
Days  when  my  spirit  so  enjoyed 
More  than  earth's  Uberty ! 

Oh  for  the  times  when  on  my  heart 

Long  prayer  had  never  palled,  — 
Times  when  the  ready  thought  of  God 

Would  come  when  it  was  called  ! 

Then,  when  I  knelt  to  meditate, 
Sweet  thoughts  came  o'er  my  soul, 

Countless,  and  bright,  and  beautiful 
Beyond  all  my  control. 

Oh  !  who  hath  locked  those  fountains  up  ? 

Those  visions  who  hath  stayed  ? 
What  sudden  act  hath  thus  transformed 

My  sunshine  into  shade  ? 

This  freezing  heart,  O  Lord  !  this  will. 

Dry  as  the  desert  sand. 
Good  thoughts  that  will  not  come,  bad  thoughts 

That  come  without  command,  — 

A  faith  that  seems  not  faith,  a  hope 

That  cares  not  for  its  aim, 
A  love  that  none  the  hotter  grows 

At  Jesus'  blessed  name,  — 


268  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

The  weariness  of  prayer,  the  mist 
O'er  conscience  overspread, 

The  chill  repugnance  to  frequent 
The  feast  of  angels'  bread  :  — 

If  this  drear  change  be  thine,  O  Lord ! 

If  it  be  thy  sweet  will, 
Spare  not,  but  to  the  very  brim 

The  bitter  chalice  fill. 

But  if  it  hath  been  sin  of  mine. 

Oh  show  that  sin  to  me, 
Not  to  get  back  the  sweetness  lost, 

But  to  make  peace  with  thee. 

One  thing  alone,  dear  Lord,  I  dread,  — 

To  have  a  secret  spot 
That  separates  my  soul  from  thee, 

And  yet  to  know  it  not. 

Oh,  when  the  tide  of  graces  set 

So  full  upon  my  heart, 
I  know,  dear  Lord,  how  faithlessly 

I  did  my  little  part. 

I  know  how  well  my  heart  hath  earned 

A  chastisement  like  this. 
In  trifling  many  a  grace  away 

In  self-complacent  bliss. 

But  if  this  weariness  hath  come 

A  present  from  on  high. 
Teach  me  to  find  the  hidden  wealth 

That  in  its  depths  may  lie. 


-0 — \\\ 


0— I* 

SOA^GS   OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  26() 

So  in  this  darkness  I  can  learn 

To  tremble  and  adore, 
To  sound  my  own  vile  nothingness, 

And  thus  to  love  thee  more,  — 

To  love  thee,. and  yet  not  to  think 

That  I  can  love  so  much,  — 
To  have  thee  with  me,  Lord,  all  day, 

Yet  not  to  feel  thy  touch. 

If  I  have  ser\'ed  thee,  Lord,  for  hire,  — 

Hire  which  thy  beauty  showed, — 
Ah  !  I  can  serve  thee  now  for  nought, 

And  only  as  my  God. 

Oh,  blessed  be  this  darkness  then, 

This  deep  in  which  I  lie, 
And  blessed  be  all  things  that  teach 

God's  dread  supremacy ! 

1849-  F.  W.  Faber. 


AH!  DEAREST  LORD,  I  CANNOT  PRAY. 

A  H  !  dearest  Lord,  I  cannot  pray, 
■^  ^     My  fancy  is  not  free  ; 
Unmannerly  distractions  come, 
And  force  my  thoughts  from  thee. 

The  world  that  looks  so  dull  all  day, 
Grows  bright  on  me  at  prayer ; 

And  plans  that  ask  no  thought  but  then, 
Wake  up  and  meet  me  there. 


2/0  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

All  nature  one  full  fountain  seems 
Of  dreamy  sight  and  sound, 

Which,  when  I  kneel,  breaks  up  its  deeps, 
And  makes  a  deluge  round. 

Old  voices  murmur  in  my  ear, 

New  hopes  start  into  life. 
And  past  and  future  gayly  blend, 

In  one  bewitching  strife. 

My  very  flesh  has  restless  fits ; 

My  changeful  limbs  conspire 
With  all  these  phantoms  of  the  mind 

My  inner  self  to  tire. 

I  cannot  pray;  yet,  Lord,  thou  know'st 

The  pain  it  is  to  me 
To  have  my  vainly  struggling  thoughts 

Thus  torn  away  from  thee. 

Ah,  Jesus  !  teach  me  how  to  prize 
These  tedious  hours  when  I, 

Foolish  and  mute  before  thy  face, 
In  helpless  worship  lie. 

Prayer  was  not  meant  for  luxury, 

Or  selfish  pastime  sweet : 
It  is  the  prostrate  creature's  place 

At  his  Creator's  feet. 

Had  I  kept  stricter  watch  each  hour 
O'er  tongue  and  eye  and  ear ; 

Had  I  but  mortified  all  day 
Each  joy  as  it  came  near ; 


SOA'GS   OUT  OF   THE   DEPTHS.  2/1 

Had  I,  dear  Lord,  no  pleasure  found 

But  in  the  thought  of  thee,  — 
Prayer  would  have  come  unsought,  and  been 

A  truer  liberty. 

Yet  thou  art  oft  most  present,  Lord, 

In  weak,  distracted  prayer  : 
A  sinner  out  of  heart  with  self 

Most  often  finds  thee  there. 

And  prayer  that  humbles,  sets  the  soul 

From  all  illusions  free. 
And  teaches  it  how  utterly 

It  hangs,  dear  Lord,  on  thee. 

The  soul  that  on  self-sacrifice 

Is  covetously  bent. 
Will  bless  thy  chastening  hand,  that  makes 

Its  prayer  its  punishment. 

Ah,  Jesus  !  why  should  I  complain  } 

And  why  fear  aught  but  sin  .? 
Distractions  are  but  outward  things, 

Thy  peace  dwells  far  within  ! 

These  surface-troubles  come  and  go, 

Like  rufflings  of  the  sea  ; 
The  deeper  depth  is  out  of  reach 

To  all,  my  God,  but  thee ! 

1849.  F.  W.  Faber. 


-0 — HI: 


0—+* 

272  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

THE   WINDS  WERE    HOWLING    O^ER   THE    DEEP. 

^  I  ^HE  winds  were  howling  o'er  the  deep, 
"^       Each  wave  a  watery  hill ; 
The  Saviour  wakened  from  his  sleep ; 
He  spake,  and  all  was  still. 

The  madman  in  a  tomb  had  made 

His  mansion  of  despair : 
Woe  to  the  traveller  who  strayed 

With  heedless  footstep  there  ! 

He  met  that  glance,  so  thrilling  sweet ; 

He  heard  those  accents  mild ; 
And,  melting  at  Messiah's  feet. 

Wept  like  a  weanM  child. 

Oh,  madder  than  the  raving  man ! 

Oh,  deafer  than  the  sea ! 
How  long  the  time  since  Christ  began 

To  call  in  vain  on  me  ! 

He  called  me  when  my  thoughtless  prime 

Was  early  ripe  to  ill ; 
I  passed  from  folly  on  to  crime, 

And  yet  he  called  me  still. 

He  called  me  in  the  time  of  dread, 

When  death  was  full  in  view : 
I  trembled  on  my  feverish  bed, 

And  rose  to  sin  anew. 


:fH — 0- 


— 0— f* 

SOJVGS  OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  273 

Yet  could  I  hear  him  once  again, 

As  I  have  heard  of  old, 
Methinks  he  should  not  call  in  vain 

His  wanderer  to  his  fold. 

O  Thou,  that  every  thought  canst  know, 

And  answer  every  prayer. 
Oh  give  me  sickness,  want,  or  woe. 

But  snatch  me  from  despair ! 

My  struggling  will  by  grace  control ; 

Renew  my  broken  vow  ! 
What  blessed  light  breaks  on  my  soul  ? 

My  God,  I  hear  thee  now  ! 

1826.  Bishop  Heber. 


FATHER    OF    LOVE,    WHO    DIDST    NOT    SPARE. 

LWTHER  of  love,  who  didst  not  spare 

-^        For  us  thine  only  Son, 

Oh  look  on  him,  and  hear  the  prayer 

Of  thy  poor  suppliant  one  ! 
Behold  his  pierced  hands  and  feet. 

Pleading  for  us  e'en  now  ; 
Behold  that  wounded  heart  so  sweet ; 

Behold  upon  his  brow 
The  traces  of  the  thorny  crown  ; 

Behold  the  stripes  he  bore  : 
By  these  he  claims  us  for  his  own, 

His  own  for  evermore  ! 
18 


274  SOjVGS   of   the   soul. 

Oh  look  on  him,  and  let  the  cry 

Of  this  our  Brother's  blood, 
Who,  guiltless,  for  our  guilt  did  die, 

Ascend  to  thee,  our  God. 
Wilt  thou  refuse  his  love,  his  toil, 

The  one  reward  they  crave  ? 
Shall  his  most  deadly  foe  despoil 

The  souls  he  died  to  save  ? 
Father,  oh  that  be  far  from  thee, 

That  thou  shouldst  turn  away 
When,  in  that  name's  high  merits,  we 

Kneel  humbly  down  to  pray  ! 

For  this  is  thy  beloved  Son, 

In  whom  thou  art  well  pleased  ; 
Who  for  the  sins  that  we  had  done 

Thine  anger  just  appeased. 
Clothed  in  his  raiment  we  appear, 

Kneeling  before  his  throne. 
Besprinkled  with  that  blood  so  dear. 

The  garment  thou  wilt  own  ; 
And  for  its  sake  the  sinner  vile 

Is  made  thy  wedding-guest,  — 
E'en  such  an  one  as  her  erewhile 

By  seven  fiends  possessed. 

No  depth  of  sin  can  drown  that  love. 
No  water  quench  its  fire : 

Desponding  soul,  arise  and  prove 
Its  might,  its  strong  desire ! 

Come  !  yea  in  lowliest  confidence, 
Approach  in  Jesus'  name  ; 


sojVgs  out  of  the  depths.         275 

Greater  his  love  than  all  offence : 

Father,  that  love  we  claim  ! 
Bending  before  thine  altar  low, 

We  offer  it  to  thee, 
The  purest  offering  earth  can  know. 

Or  Heaven  look  down  to  see. 


TAKE   ME,    O    MY   FATHER,    TAKE   ME  ! 


nr^AKE  me,  O  my  Father,  take  me ! 

-^       Take  me,  save  me,  through  thy  Son ! 
That  which  thou  wouldst  have  me,  make  me, 
Let  thy  will  in  me  be  done ! 

Long  from  thee  my  footsteps  straying. 

Thorny  proved  the  way  I  trod  ; 
Weary  come  I  now,  and  praying. 

Take  me  to  thy  love,  my  God  ! 

Fruitless  years  with  grief  recalling, 

Humbly  I  confess  my  sin ; 
At  thy  feet,  O  Father,  falling, 

To  thy  household  take  me  in  ! 

Freely  now  to  thee  I  proffer 

This  relenting  heart  of  mine ; 
Freely  life  and  soul  I  offer, 

Gift  unworthy  love  like  thine ! 


*t— ^ — — ^— I* 

2^6  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Once  the  world's  Redeemer,  dying, 

Bore  our  sins  upon  the  tree : 
On  that  sacrifice  relying, 

Now  I  look  in  hope  to  thee ! 

Father,  take  me  !     All  forgiving, 

Fold  me  to  thy  loving  breast  : 
In  thy  love  for  ever  living, 

I  must  be  for  ever  blest ! 

1865.  Ray  Palmer. 


A      PRAYER. 

IV /TY  God,  oh  let  me  call  thee  mine, 
-^▼-L     Weak,  wretched  sinner  though  I  be ; 
My  trembling  soul  would  fain  be  thine, 
My  feeble  faith  still  clings  to  thee  ! 

Not  only  for  the  past  I  grieve. 
The  future  fills  me  with  dismay ; 

Unless  thou  hasten  to  relieve, 
Thy  suppliant  is  a  castaway ! 

I  cannot  say  my  faith  is  strong, 
I  dare  not  hope  my  love  is  great : 

But  strength  and  love  to  thee  belong ; 
Oh  do  not  leave  me  desolate  ! 

I  know  I  owe  my  all  to  thee  ; 

Oh  take  the  heart  I  cannot  give ! 
Do  thou  my  strength,  my  Saviour  be, 

And  make  me  to  thy  glory  live. 

Anne  Bronte, 


SOA'GS   OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  277 

EARLY   CHRISTIAN    HYMN. 
(^Froin  the  Gi'eek.) 

^  I  ^O  thee,  O  dear,  long-suffering  Lord, 
-*■       I  stretch  weak  hands,  and  cry  : 
Oh  heal  my  soul !  oh  give  me  faith 

To  know  that  thou  art  nigh  ! 
I  feel  the  terrors  of  thy  law ; 

My  sins  oppress  me  sore ; 
Oh  save  my  soul,  and  I  thy  name 

For  ever  will  adore  ! 

Receive  thy  servant,  O  my  Lord, 

Who  here  before  thee  lies  ! 
I  loathe  my  sins,  I  tell  them  o'er, 

With  bitter  tears  and  cries. 

0  my  sweet  Saviour,  this  I  plead, 
That  thou  for  me  hast  died ; 

1  fly  to  thee,  I  trust  in  thee, 

My  Christ,  my  Crucified  ! 

Oh  hear  me  in  thy  realm  of  light, 

And  still  this  anguish  wild  ! 
Speak  but  one  word  !  O  Jesus,  hear 

Thy  weeping,  helpless  child  ! 
Receive  my  guilty,  trembling  soul, 

That  hopes  but  in  thy  grace  ; 
Reach  down,  O  Christ,  thine  arms  of  love ! 

Give  me  to  see  thy  face  ! 


pfr-o <h-m 

278  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

LITANY. 

O  AVIOUR,  when  in  dust  to  thee 
^^     Low  we  bend  the  adoring  knee  ; 
When,  repentant,  to  the  skies 
Scarce  we  hft  our  weeping  eyes,  — 
Oh,  by  all  the  pains  and  woe 
Suffered  once  for  man  below, 
Bending  from  thy  throne  on  high, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

By  thy  helpless  infant  years  ; 
By  thy  life  of  want  and  tears  ; 
By  thy  days  of  sore  distress 
In  the  savage  wilderness  ; 
By  the  dread  mysterious  hour 
Of  the  insulting  tempter's  power, — 
Turn,  oh  turn,  a  favoring  eye  ; 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

By  the  sacred  griefs  that  wept 
O'er  the  grave  where  Lazarus  slept ; 
By  the  boding  tears  that  flowed 
Over  Salem's  loved  abode  ; 
By  the  anguished  sigh  that  told 
Treachery  lurked  within  thy  fold,  — 
From  thy  seat  above  the  sky, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

By  thine  hour  of  dire  despair ; 
By  thine  agony  of  prayer  ; 
By  the  cross,  the  nail,  the  thorn, 
Piercing  spear,  and  torturing  scorn  ; 


SO.VGS   OUT  OF   THE   DEPTHS.  279 

By  the  gloom  that  veiled  the  skies 
O'er  the  dreadful  sacrifice,  — 
Listen  to  our  humble  cry, 
Hear  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

By  the  deep  expiring  groan  ; 
By  the  sad  sepulchral  stone  ; 
By  the  vault  whose  dark  abode 
Held  in  vain  the  rising  God,  — 
Oh,  from  earth  to  heaven  restored, 
Mighty  reascended  Lord, 
Listen,  listen  to  the  cry 
Of  our  solemn  Litany  ! 

1839.  Sir  Robert  Grant. 


I    COME,    O    LORD,    TO    THEE. 


I 


COME,  O  Lord,  to  thee  ; 
In  sad  and  grievous  thought  I  hear 
thy  call, 
And  I  must  come,  or  else  from  thee  I  fall     ^ 
Deeper  in  misery. 

I  have  not  kept  thy  word, 
And  yet  thou  biddest  me  to  taste  thy  love  ; 
Shaming  my  faithless  heart,  that  e'er  could  rove 

From  thee,  O  gracious  Lord ! 

Shame  wraps  my  heart  around. 
Like  morning  gloom  upon  the  mountains  spread  ; 
Indignant  memory,  avenger  dread, 

Deepens  each  restless  wound. 


f 


-0— H^ 


280  SOATGS   OF   THE  SOUL, 

Yet  must  I  come  to  thee  ! 
Thou  hast  the  words  of  Hfe,  and  thou  alone ; 
Thou  sittest  upon  the  Mediator's  throne : 

Where  should  a  sinner  flee  ? 

Nor  saint's  nor  angel's  will 
Could  lift  the  burden  from  this  loaded  breast : 
Weary  I  come,  and  thou  wilt  give  me  rest ; 

Thou  wilt  thy  word  fulfil. 

I  come  to  thee  !  Since  all 
To  faith  is  possible,  in  faith  I  come ! 
As  blind,  and  deaf,  and  halt,  and  maimed,  and  dumb, 

Before  thy  feet  I  fall ! 

Whom  didst  thou  turn  away  ? 
From  what  distress  was  hid  thy  pitying  face  ? 
What  cold  rebuke  e'er  checked  the  cry  for  grace  ? 

Can  I  unheeded  pray  ? 

Saviour,  oh  come  to  save ! 
Speak  but  the  word,  thy  servant  shall  be  whole : 
Turnf  Lord,  and  look  on  me  ;  quicken  my  soul 

Out  of  this  living  grave ! 

Enter  my  opening  heart ! 
Fill  it  with  love  and  peace,  and  light  from  heaven ! 
Give  me  thyself,  for  all  in  thee  is  given  ! 

Come,  never  to  depart ! 

Thomas  W.  Webb. 


0— i* 

SOJVGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  28 1 

WHEN    AT   THY    FOOTSTOOL,    LORD,    I    BEND. 

TT  7HEN  at  thy  footstool,  Lord,  I  bend, 

^  ^       And  plead  with  thee  for  mercy  there, 
Oh  think  thou  of  the  sinner's  Friend, 

And  for  his  sake  receive  my  prayer ! 
Oh  think  not  of  my  shame  and  guilt. 

My  thousand  stains  of  deepest  dye  : 
Think  of  the  blood  which  Jesus  spilt. 

And  let  that  blood  my  pardon  buy. 

Think,  Lord,  how  I  am  still  thine  own, 

The  trembling  creature  of  thy  hand ; 
Think  how  my  heart  to  sin  is  prone. 

And  what  temptations  round  me  stand. 
Oh  think  how  blind  and  weak  am  I, 

How  strong  and  wily  are  my  foes  ; 
They  wrestled  with  thy  hosts  on  high  : 

How  should  a  worm  their  might  oppose  ^ 

Oh  think  upon  thy  holy  word. 

And  every  plighted  promise  there  ; 
How  prayer  should  evermore  be  heard. 

And  how  thy  glory  is  to  spare. 
Oh  think  not  of  my  doubts  and  fears. 

My  strivings  with  thy  grace  divine : 
Think  upon  Jesus'  woes  and  tears. 

And  let  his  merits  stand  for  mine ! 

Thine  eye,  thine  ear,  they  are  not  dull ; 
Thine  arm  can  never  shortened  be  ; 


282  SOAGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Behold  me  here,  —  my  heart  is  full,  — 
Behold,  and  spare  and  succor  me ! 

No  claim,  no  merits.  Lord,  I  plead ; 
I  come,  a  humbled,  helpless  slave : 

But  ah,  the  more  my  guilty  need. 
The  more  thy  glory,  Lord,  to  save  ! 

1868.  Francis  Lyte. 


HERE   BEHOLD    ME. 

(^Szeh  hier  bin  ich,  Eh?'enkdftig.) 

T  TERE  behold  me,  as  I  cast  me 

^  ^     At  thy  throne,  O  glorious  King ! 

Tears  fast  thronging,  childlike  longing. 

Son  of  man,  to  thee  I  bring. 
Let  me  find  thee  !  let  me  find  thee  ! 

Me  a  poor  and  worthless  thing. 

Look  upon  me,  Lord,  I  pray  thee. 

Let  thy  spirit  dwell  in  mine ; 
Thou  hast  sought  me,  thou  hast  bought  me; 

Only  thee  to  know,  I  pine. 
Let  me  find  thee  !  let  me  find  thee ! 

Take  my  heart  and  grant  me  thine! 

Nought  I  ask  for,  nought  I  strive  for, 

But  thy  grace  so  rich  and  free, 
That  thou  givest  whom  thou  lovest, 

And  who  truly  cleave  to  thee. 
Let  me  find  thee  !  let  me  find  thee  ! 

He  hath  all  things  who  hath  thee ! 


W-^ 


SO.VGS   OUT  OF   THE  DEPTHS.  283 

Earthly  treasure,  mirth  and  pleasure, 
Glorious  name,  or  richest  hoard, 

Are  but  weary,  void,  and  dreary. 
To  the  heart  that  longs  for  God. 

Let  me  find  thee  !  let  me  find  thee  ! 
I  am  ready,  mighty  Lord. 

1679.  Neander. 


O 


O    BLESSED    MY   JESU. 
(6>  care  mi  Jesu.) 

BLESSED  my  Jesu, 
Eve  trusted  in  thee  ; 
O  Saviour,  my  Jesu, 
Now  liberate  me  ! 
In  horrible  prison 
And  gloom  have  arisen 
My  sighs,  O  my  Jesu,  incessant  to  thee ; 
But  oh  !  on  my  sorrow 
Has  brightened  no  morrow  ; 
Yet  hear  me,  my  Jesu,  and  Hberate  me  ! 

0  blessed  my  Jesu, 
Eve  trusted  in  thee  ; 

And  still  will  I  trust  thee 

To  liberate  me ! 
And  so,  while  I  languish, 

1  cry  in  my  anguish. 

Adoring,  imploring,  and  bending  the  knee  ; 

In  sorrow  and  tremor, 

O  blessed  Redeemer, 
Smile  on  me  from  heaven,  and  hberate  me ! 

«S87«  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  trans,  by  Bishop  Coxe. 


284  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 


FROM    THE    RECESSES    OF   A    LOWLY    SPIRIT. 

"CpROM  the  recesses  of  a  lowly  spirit 

-*-        My   humble    prayer   ascends  :    O    Father, 

hear  it, 
Upsoaring  on  the  wings  of  fear  and  meekness  ; 
Forgive  its  weakness. 

I  know,  I  feel,  how  mean  and  how  unworthy 
The  trembling  sacrifice  I  pour  before  thee  : 
What  can  I  offer  in  thy  presence  holy, 
But  sin  and  folly  ? 

For  in  thy  sight,  who  every  bosom  viewest. 
Cold  are  our  warmest  vows,  and  vain  our  truest ; 
Thoughts    of   a   hurrying   hour,  our   lips   repeat 
them. 
Our  hearts  forget  them. 

We  see  thy  hand,  —  it  leads  us,  it  supports  us  ; 
We  hear  thy  voice,  —  it  counsels  and  it  courts  us  ; 
And  then  we  turn  away,  and  still  thy  kindness 
Pardons  our  blindness. 

And  still  thy  rain  descends,  thy  sun  is  glowing. 
Fruits  ripen  round,  flowers  are  beneath  us  blowing ; 
And,  as  if  man  were  some  deserving  creature, 
Joy  covers  nature. 

Oh,  how  long-suffering,  Lord  !  but  thou  delightest 
To  win  with  love  the  wandering  ;  thou  invitest, 
By  smiles  of  mercy,  not  by  frowns  or  terrors, 
Man  from  his  errors. 


^^t-- ^- 


SOJVGS   OUT  OF   THE   DEPTHS.  285 

Who  can  resist  thy  gentle  call,  appealing 
To  every  generous  thought  and  grateful  feeling  ? 
That  voice  paternal,  whispering,  watching  ever  ? 
I\Iy  bosom  ?  never  ! 

Father  and  Saviour !  plant  within  that  bosom 
These  seeds  of  holiness,  and  bid  them  blossom 
In  fragrance  and  in  beauty  bright  and  vernal, 
And  spring  eternal. 

Then  place  them  in  those  everlasting  gardens 
Where  angels  walk,  and  seraphs  are  the  wardens  ; 
Where  every  flower  that  creeps  through  Death's 
dark  portal 
Becomes  immortal. 

1841.  Sir  John  Bowring. 


LORD,    AT   THIS    MOMENT   THOU    ART    SURELY 
HERE. 

T    ORD,  at  this  moment  thou  art  surely  here, 
-'-^     And  I  thy  presence  feel ; 
I  feel  thy  pitying  eye  rest  on  my  head, 
I  hear  thy  gentle  footsteps  near  me  tread, 
And  at  thy  feet  I  kneel. 

I  kneel,  I  tell  thee  all  my  inmost  woe, 

Tell  of  a  load  of  sin  ; 
I  ask  thy  mercy,  pardon,  and  relief ; 
I  show  thee  all  my  bitter,  bitter  grief, 

The  deep  distress  within. 


-0 — H» 


)S6  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

I  count  my  years,  to  thee  a  wasted  life, 

With  so  much  left  undone  ; 
It  looks  so  sad  !  now  that  thyself  art  near, 
Thy  human  life  shines  out  so  pure  and  clear, 

And  mine  in  sin  has  run. 

Lord,  while  I  see  thy  wounds  I  feel  it  all. 

Too  much  for  me  to  bear ! 
I  need  to  draw  new  life  in  every  breath  ; 
I  need  a  rescue  in  the  hour  of  death, 

And  One  my  griefs  to  share. 

And  while  I  lay  this  sadness  at  thy  feet, 

I  feel  thee  nearing  me  ! 
Stretch  forth  thine  hand, —  I  know  thy  healing  voice  ! 
It  makes  this  weary,  mournful  heart  rejoice, 

And  draws  me  nearer  thee  ! 

Nearer  and  nearer  still,  offers  thyself 

In  wondrous  mystery  ! 
Unites  me  with  thee,  and  thyself  with  me. 
In  sorrow,  joy,  through  life,  through  death,  to  be 

Thine  in  eternity ! 


MY   GOD!    LO,    HERE    BEFORE    THY    FACE. 
(^Hier  Iteg'  ich,  He?'r,  im  Staiibe.) 

"jV/TY  God!  lo,  here  before  thy  face, 
■^^■^     I  cast  me  in  the  dust ; 
Where  is  the  hope  of  happier  days  ? 
Where  is  my  wonted  trust  ? 


Hf±— 0- 


*l— 0 o—\^. 

SOiVGS   OUT  OF   THE   DEPTHS.  28/ 

Where  are  the  sunny  hours  I  had 

Ere  of  thy  hght  bereft  ? 
Vanished  is  all  that  made  me  glad : 

My  pain  alone  is  left. 

I  shrink  with  fear  and  sore  alarm 

When  threatening  ills  I  see, 
As  though,  in  time  of  need,  thine  arm 

No  more  could  shelter  me  ; 
As  though  thou  couldst  not  see  the  grief 

That  makes  my  courage  quail ; 
As  though  thou  wouldst  not  send  relief 

When  human  helpers  fail. 

Cannot  thy  might  avert  e'en  now, 

What  seems  my  certain  doom, 
And  still  with  light  and  succor  bow 

To  him  who  weeps  in  gloom  ? 
Art  thou  not  evermore  the  same  ? 

And  hast  not  thou  revealed 
That  thou  wilt  be  our  strength  ;  thy  name, 

Our  tower  of  hope,  our  shield  ? 

My  Father,  compass  me  about 

With  love,  for  I  am  weak  ; 
Forgive,  forgive  my  sinful  doubt,  — 

Thy  pitying  glance  I  seek  : 
For  torn  and  anguished  is  my  heart. 

Thou  seest  it,  my  God  : 
Oh  soothe  my  conscience'  bitter  smart, 

Lift  off  my  sorrow's  load  ! 


288  SOjVGS  of   the  soul. 

I  know  that  I  am  in  thy  hands, 

Whose  thoughts  are  peace  toward  me  ; 
That  ever  sure  thy  counsel  stands,  — 

Could  I  but  build  on  thee  ! 
I  know  that  thou  wilt  give  me  all 

That  thou  hast  promised,  Lord : 
Here  will  I  cling,  nor  yield,  nor  fall ; 

I  live  but  by  thy  word. 

Though  mountains  crumble  into  dust, 

Thy  covenant  standeth  fast  : 
Who  follows  thee  in  pious  trust, 

Shall  reach  the  goal  at  last. 
Though  strange  and  winding  seem  the  way 

While  yet  on  earth  I  dwell. 
In  heaven  my  heart  shall  gladly  say, 

Thou,  God,  doest  all  things  well. 

Take  courage,  then,  my  soul,  nor  steep 

Thy  days  and  nights  in  tears  : 
Thou  soon  shalt  cease  to  mourn  and  weep, 

Though  dark  are  now  thy  fears. 
He  comes,  he  comes,  the  Strong  to  save ! 

He  comes,  nor  tarries  more ! 
His  light  is  breaking  o'er  the  wave  ! 

The  clouds  and  storms  are  o'er ! 


1797. 


Drewes. 


SOA^GS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  289 


LITANY. 


(Kupie,  (Mrjaov. 
Xptare,  kTusijaov.) 


OLORD  God  eternal. 
The  First  and  the  Last, 
We  are  fallen  before  thee, 

As  sinners  downcast : 
Not  in  anger  deal  with  us ; 

Lighten  the  rod  ; 
Once  more,  once  more,  say, 

"  I  am  your  God  : " 
Turn  thy  face  toward  us  ; 

Put  up  the  sword  ; 
Have  mercy  upon  us, 

Have  mercy,  O  Lord  ! 

In  the  blindness  of  youth. 

In  sickness  and  health. 
In  the  time  of  trial, 

In  the  time  of  wealth. 
As  we  creep  and  dwindle 

In  age  away, 
In  the  hour  of  death. 

In  the  judgment-day, — 
Turn  thy  face  toward  us  ; 

Put  up  the  sword  ; 
Have  mercy  upon  us, 

Have  mercy,  O  Lord  ! 
19 


^H — ^ 


290  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

When  the  lust  of  wealth 

Makes  its  own  self  all ; 
When  the  pride  of  strength 

Tramples  down  the  small ; 
When  the  world's  outcasts 

Sit  and  hide  the  head ; 
When  the  barefoot  children 

Cry  out  for  bread,  — 
Turn  not  thy  face  from  us  ; 

Draw  not  the  sword  ; 
Have  mercy  upon  us, 

Have  mercy,  O  Lord  ! 

When  the  tempter  comes 

With  gold  and  smiles  ; 
When  the  flesh  is  master, 

And  thought  defiles  ; 
When  faith  grows  faint 

Through  pride  or  fear,  — 
O  thou  that  knowest, 

Spare  us  !  oh  spare  ! 
Turn  thy  face  toward  us  ; 

Put  up  the  sword  ; 
Have  mercy  upon  us, 

Have  mercy,  O  Lord  ! 

By  thy  manhood  on  earth, 
By  thy  death  and  life  ; 

By  the  mountain  peace 
And  the  midnight  strife  ; 

By  the  scourge  and  cross, 
And  all  that  pain  ; 


-0 — H^ 


SONGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  291 

By  thy  golden  throne 

Set  with  God  to  reign,  — 

Turn  thy  face  toward  us  ; 
Put  up  the  sword  ; 

Have  mercy  upon  us, 
Have  mercy,  O  Lord  !  / 

1868.  Franos  Turner  Palgravb. 


A      LITANY. 

T^HOU  who  dost  dwell  alone, 

-*-       Thou  who  dost  know  thine  own, 
Thou  to  whom  all  are  known 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 

Save,  oh  save ! 
From  the  world's  temptations  ; 
From  tribulations ; 
From  that  fierce  anguish 
Wherein  we  languish ; 
From  that  torpor  deep 
Wherein  we  lie  asleep, 
Heavy  as  death,  cold  as  the  grave,  — • 
Save,  oh  save ! 

When  the  soul,  growing  clearer, 
Sees  God  no  nearer  ; 
When  the  soul,  mounting  higher, 
To  God  comes  no  nigher ; 
But  the  arch-fiend  Pride 
Mounts  at  her  side, 


292  SO  AGS   OF  THE   SOUL. 

Foiling  her  high  emprise, 
SeaUng  her  eagle  eyes, 
And,  when  she  fain  would  soar, 
Makes  idols  to  adore  ; 
Changing  the  pure  emotion 
Of  her  high  devotion 
To  a  skin-deep  sense 
Of  her  own  eloquence, 
Strong  to  deceive,  strong  to  enslave, 
Save,  oh  save ! 


From  the  ingrained  fashion 

Of  this  earthly  nature. 

That  mars  thy  creature  ; 
From  grief  that  is  but  passion  ; 
From  mirth  that  is  but  feigning ; 

From  tears  that  bring  no  healing ; 
From  weak  and  wild  complaining,  — • 

Thine  own  strength  revealing. 
Save,  oh  save ! 

From  doubt  where  all  is  double. 

Where  wise  men  are  not  strong, 
Where  comfort  turns  to  trouble. 
Where  just  men  suffer  wrong, 
Where  sorrow  treads  on  joy. 
Where  sweet  things  soonest  cloy, 
Where  faiths  are  built  on  dust. 
Where  love  is  half  mistrust,  — 
Hungry,  and  barren,  and  sharp  as  the  sea, 
Oh  set  us  free  ! 


1856. 


_ 0— rt* 

SOJVGS   OUT   OF   THE   DEPTHS.  293 

Oh  let  the  false  dream  fly 
Where  our  sick  souls  do  lie 
Tossing  continually ! 
Oh,  where  thy  voice  doth  come, 
Let  all  doubts  be  dumb ! 
Let  all  words  be  mild, 
All  strifes  be  reconciled, 
All  pains  beguiled  ! 
Light  brings  no  blindness, 
Love  no  unkindness, 
Knowledge  no  ruin, 
Fear  no  undoing  : 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
Save,  oh  save  ! 

Matthew  Arnold. 


FROM   MY   LIPS   IN   THEIR  DEFILEMENT. 

{Fro7n  the  Greek. ) 

■pj^ROM  my  lips  in  their  defilement, 
-*-       From  my  heart  in  its  beguilement. 
From  my  tongue  which  speaks  not  fair, 
From  my  soul  stained  everywhere, 
O  my  Jesus,  take  my  prayer ! 
Spurn  me  not  for  all  it  says. 
Not  for  words  and  not  for  ways, 
Not  for  shamelessness  endued. 
Make  me  brave  to  speak  my  mood, 
O  my  Jesus,  as  I  would ! 
Or  teach  me,  which  I  rather  seek, 
What  to  do,  and  what  to  speak. 


294  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  have  sinned  more  than  she 

Who,  learning  where  to  meet  with  thee, 

And  bringing  myrrh  the  highest-priced, 
Anointed  bravely,  from  her  knee, 
Thy  blessed  feet  accordingly. 

My  God,  my  Lord,  my  Christ ! 
As  thou  saidest  not,  "Depart," 
To  that  suppliant  from  her  heart, 
Scorn  me  not,  O  Word,  that  art 
The  gentlest  one  of  all  words  said  ! 
But  give  thy  feet  to  me  instead. 
That  tenderly  I  may  them  kiss, 
And  clasp  them  close  and  never  miss. 
With  over-dropping  tears  as  free 
And  precious  as  that  myrrh  could  be, 
T'  anoint  them  bravely  from  my  knee ! 
Wash  me  with  thy  tears  :  draw  nigh  me, 
That  their  salt  may  purify  me. 
Then  remit  my  sins,  who  knovvest 
All  the  sinning,  to  the  lowest,  — 
Knowest  all  my  wounds,  and  seest 
All  the  stripes  thyself  decreest ; 
Yea  !  but  knowest  all  my  faith, 
Seest  all  my  force  to  death, 
Hearest  all  my  wailings  low. 
That  mine  evil  should  be  so. 

Nothing  hidden  but  appears 
In  thy  knowledge,  O  Divine, 
O  Creator,  Saviour  mine  ! 

Not  a  drop  of  falling  tears. 
Not  a  breath  of  inward  moan. 
Not  a  heart-beat,  —  which  is  gone  ! 

John  of  Damascene,  trans,  by  Mrs.  BKOwmNG. 


SONGS  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  295 

JESU,   NAME   ALL   NAMES    ABOVE. 

{^hjaov  yXvH.vraTE.) 

TESU,  name  all  names  above, 

^      Jesu,  best  and  dearest, 

Jesu,  Fount  of  perfect  love, 
Holiest,  tenderest,  nearest ! 

Jesu,  source  of  grace  completest, 

Jesu  truest,  Jesu  sweetest, 
Jesu,  well  of  power  divine, 
Make,  keep  me,  seal  me  thine  ! 

Jesu,  open  me  the  gate 

Which  the  sinner  entered. 
Who,  in  his  last  dying  state, 

Wholly  on  thee  ventured. 
Thou  whose  wounds  are  ever  pleading. 
And  thy  passion  interceding. 

From  my  misery  let  me  rise 

To  a  home  in  Paradise  ! 

Thou  didst  call  the  prodigal ; 

Thou  didst  pardon  Mary  : 
Thou  whose  words  can  never  fall, 

Love  can  never  vary. 
Lord,  amidst  my  lost  condition 
Give  —  for  thou  canst  give  —  contrition  ! 

Thou  canst  pardon  all  mine  ill, 

If  thou  wilt :  oh  say,  "  I  will !  " 


296  SOAVS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Woe,  that  I  have  turned  aside, 

After  fleshly  pleasure ! 
Woe,  that  I  have  never  tried 

For  the  heavenly  treasure  ! 
Treasure  safe  in  homes  supernal ; 
Incorruptible,  eternal ! 

Treasure  no  less  price  hath  won 

Than  the  Passion  of  the  Son  ! 

Jesu,  crowned  with  thorns  for  me, 

Scourged  for  my  transgression  ! 
Witnessing  through  agony 

That  thy  good  confession  ; 
Jesu,  clad  in  purple  raiment, 
For  my  evils  making  payment,  — 

Let  not  all  thy  woe  and  pain, 

Let  not  Calvary,  be  vain ! 

When  I  reach  Death's  bitter  sea, 

And  its  waves  roll  higher. 
Help  the  more  forsaking  me, 

As  the  storm  draws  nigher : 
Jesu,  leave  me  not  to  languish, 
Helpless,  hopeless,  full  of  anguish  ! 

Tell  me,  "  Verily,  I  say. 

Thou  shalt  be  with  me  to-day ! " 

890.  Theocristus  of  the  Studium,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealk. 


-0 — Hi 


SONGS    OF   ASPIRATION. 


3>iKC 


THE    BIRD    LET    LOOSE    IN    EASTERN    SKIES. 

T^HE  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies, 

■^       When  hastening  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam  ; 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light. 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free. 
Aloft,  through  virtue's  purer  air. 

To  hold  my  course  to  thee : 
No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

My  soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  freedom  in  her  wings  ! 

1816.  Thomas  Mookk. 


FROM   "HONORS." 

/^\  GOD,  O  Kinsman  loved,  but  not  enough  ! 
^-^     O  Man,  with  eyes  majestic  after  death, 
Whose  feet  have  toiled  along  our  pathways  rough, 
Whose  lips  drawn  human  breath  ! 


300  SONGS   OF  THE   SOUL. 

By  that  one  likeness  which  is  ours  and  thine, 
By  that  one  nature  which  doth  hold  us  kin, 
By  that  high  heaven  where  sinless  thou  dost  shine 
To  draw  us  sinners  in. 

By  thy  last  silence  in  the  judgment-hall, 

By  long  foreknowledge  of  the  deadly  tree. 
By  darkness,  by  the  wormwood  and  the  gall,  — 
I  pray  thee  visit  me ! 

Come,  lest  this  heart  should,  cold  and  cast  away, 

Die  ere  the  Guest  adored  she  entertain ; 
Lest  eyes  which  never  saw  thine  earthly  day 
Should  miss  thy  heavenly  reign. 

Come,  weary-eyed  -from  seeking  in  the  night 

Thy  wanderers  strayed  upon  the  pathless  wold, 
Who,  wounded,  dying,  cry  to  thee  for  light, 
And  cannot  find  their  fold. 

And  deign,  O  Watcher  with  the  sleepless  brow, 

Pathetic  in  its  yearning,  —  deign  reply  : 
Is  there,  oh !  is  there  aught  that  such  as  thou 
Wouldst  take  from  such  as  I  ? 

Are  there  no  briers  across  thy  pathway  thrust  ? 

Are  there  no  thorns  that  compass  it  about  ? 
Nor  any  stones  that  thou  wilt  deign  to  trust 
My  hands  to  gather  out  ? 

Oh  !  if  thou  wilt,  and  if  such  bliss  might  be. 

It  were  a  cure  for  doubt,  regret,  delay ; 
Let  my  lost  pathway  go  —  what  aileth  me  ?  — 
There  is  a  better  way. 


sojvgs  of  aspiration.  301 

Far  better  in  its  place  the  lowliest  bird 

Should  sing  aright  to  him  the  lowliest  song, 
Than  that  a  seraph  strayed  should  take  the  word, 
And  sing  his  glory  wrong. 

1866.  Jean  Ingelow. 


SELF-SACRIFICE. 

■\T  7HEN  Christ  let  fall  that  sanguine  shower 

^  ^       Amid  the  garden  dew, 
Oh  say,  what  amaranthine  flower 

In  that  red  rain  upgrew  ? 
If  yet  below  the  blossom  grow, 

Then  earth  is  holy  yet ; 
But  if  it  bloom  forgotten,  woe 

To  those  who  dare  forget ! 

No  flower  so  healing  and  so  sweet 

Expands  beneath  the  skies ; 
Unknown  in  Eden,  there  unmeet : 

Its  name  ?     Self-sacrifice  ! 
The  very  name  we  scarce  can  frame : 

And  yet  that  flower's  dark  root 
The  monsters  of  the  wild  might  tame. 

And  heaven  is  in  its  fruit. 

Alas  !  what  murmur  spreads  around  .-' 

The  news  thereof  hath  been  : 
But  now  no  more  the  man  is  found 

Whose  eye  that  flower  hath  seen  : 


-tU— 0 ^ V^y 


302  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Then,  nobles  all,  leave  court  and  hall, 
And  search  the  wide  world  o'er  ; 

For  whoso  finds  this  Sancgreall, 
Stands  crowned  for  evermore  ! 

Aubrey  de  Verk. 


FIGHTING   THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

T7IGHTING  the  battle  of  life, 
-*-        With  a  weary  heart  and  head  ; 
For,  in  the  midst  of  the  strife, 
The  banners  of  Joy  are  fled. 

Fled  and  gone  out  of  sight. 

When  I  thought  they  were  so  near ; 
And  the  music  of  Hope  this  night 

Is  dying  away  on  my  ear. 

Fighting  the  whole  day  long. 

With  a  very  tired  hand, 
With  only  my  armor  strong,  — 

The  shelter  in  which  I  stand. 

There  is  nothing  left  of  mc  : 
If  all  my  strength  were  shown. 

So  small  the  amount  would  be. 

Its  presence  could  scarce  be  known. 

Fighting  alone  to-night. 
With  not  even  a  stander-by 

To  cheer  me  on  in  the  fight. 
Or  to  hear  me  when  I  cry. 


0—4* 

SONGS  OF  ASPIRATION.  303 

Only  the  Lord  can  hear, 

Only  the  Lord  can  see 
The  struggle  within  how  dark  and  drear, 

Though  quiet  the  outside  be. 

Fighting  alone  to-night, 

With  what  a  sinking  heart ! 
Lord  Jesus,  in  the  fight. 

Oh  stand  not  thou  apart ! 

Body  and  mind  have  tried 

To  make  the  field  mine  own  ; 
But  when  the  Lord  is  on  my  side, 

He  doeth  the  work  alone. 

And  when  he  hideth  his  face, 

And  the  battle-clouds  prevail, 
It  is  only  through  his  grace 

If  I  do  not  utterly  fail. 

The  word  of  old  was  true,  — 

And  its  truth  shall  never  cease,  — 
"  The  Lord  shall  fight  for  you. 

And  ye  shall  hold  your  peace." 

Lord,  I  would  fain  be  still 

And  quiet  behind  my  shield  ; 
But  make  me  to  love  thy  will, 

For  fear  I  should  ever  yield. 

For  when,  to  destroy  my  foes. 

Thou  lettest  them  strike  at  me, 
And  fillest  my  heart  with  woes, 

That  joy  may  the  purer  be. 


304  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Nothing  but  perfect  trust, 
And  love  of  thy  perfect  will, 

Can  raise  me  out  of  the  dust, 
And  bid  my  fears  lie  still. 

Even  as  now  my  hands, 

So  doth  my  folded  will 
Lie  waiting  thy  commands. 

Without  one  anxious  thrill. 

But,  as  with  sudden  pain, 

My  hands  unfold  and  clasp, 
So  doth  my  will  start  up  again, 

And  taketh  its  old  firm  grasp. 

Lord,  fix  mine  eyes  upon  thee. 
And  fill  my  heart  with  thy  love  ; 

And  keep  my  soul  till  the  shadows  flee, 
And  the  light  breaks  from  above. 

1849.  F.  W.  Faber. 


PASS      NOT      BY. 

TESUS,  Saviour,  pass  not  by ! 
^      Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by  ! 
Lo,  as  one  to  thee  we  cry. 

Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by ! 
Lord,  fulfil  thy  promise  now. 
Pour  thy  spirit  while  we  bow ; 
Turn  to  us,  as  one  we  cry. 
Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by ! 


m—0 ■ ^-tw 

SOA^GS  OF  ASPIRATION.  305 

Prostrate  in  thy  path  we  he  : 

Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by  ! 
Lest  our  very  faith  should  die  ; 

Lord,  we  perish  !  pass  not  by  ! 
To  thy  garments  we  will  cling, 
All  our  need  before  thee  bring ; 
Son  of  David,  hear  our  cry. 

Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by ! 

Lord,  we  cannot  let  thee  go : 

Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by ! 
In  our  midst  thy  presence  show  ; 

Till  thou  bless  us  we  will  cry. 
Breathe,  oh  breathe  on  us,  we  pray ; 
Tarry  not,  Lord  ;  come  to-day  : 
While  we  wait,  and  watch,  and  cry. 

Pass  not  by,  pass  not  by ! 

1870.  E.  C.  Kinney. 


PRAYER. 

T    ORD,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 
-*— ^     Spent  in  thy  presence  will  prevail  to  make ! 
What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take ! 
What  parched  grounds  refresh,  as  with  a  shower! 
We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower ; 
We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near. 
Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear. 
We  kneel,  how  weak  !  we  rise,  how  full  of  power  ! 
Why  therefore  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong, 
Or  others,  —  that  we  are  not  always  strong. 


^ 


306  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 


That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care, 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  is  prayer, 
And  joy  and  strength  and  courage  are  with  thee  ? 

1856.  Archbishop  Trench. 


PRAYER. 

(^Imitated  from  the  Persian.') 

T    ORD,  who  art  merciful  as  well  as  just, 
-■— ^     Incline  thine  ear  to  me,  a  child  of  dust ! 
Not  what  I  would,  O  Lord,  I  offer  thee, 

Alas  !  but  what  I  can. 
Father  Almighty,  who  hast  made  me  man, 
And  bade  me  look  to  heaven,  for  thou  art  there, 
Accept  my  sacrifice  and  humble  prayer. 
Four  things  which  are  not  in  thy  treasury, 
I  lay  before  thee,  Lord,  with  this  petition : 

My  nothingness,  my  wants, 

My  sins,  and  my  contrition. 

Robert  Southev. 


W 


PRAYER. 

HEN  prayer  delights  thee  least,  then  learn  to  say, 
Soul,  now  is  greatest  need  that  thou  shouldst 
pray. 


Crooked  and  warped  I  am,  and  I  would  fain 
Straighten  myself  by  thy  right-line  again. 


-0-%^. 


-0 — Hh 


SOA'GS  OF  ASPIRATION.  307 

Oh  come,  warm  sun,  and  ripen  my  late  fruits, 
Pierce  genial  showers  down  to  my  parched  roots  ! 

My  well  is  bitter :  cast  therein  the  tree, 

That  sweet  henceforth  its  brackish  waves  may  be. 

Say  what  is  prayer  when  it  is  prayer  indeed  ? 
The  mighty  utterance  of  a  mighty  need. 

The  man  is  praying  who  doth  press  with  might 
Out  of  his  darkness  into  God's  own  light. 

White  heat  the  iron  in  the  furnace  won ; 
Withdrawn  from  thence,  'tis  cold  and  hard  anon. 

Flowers  from  their  stalk  divided,  presently 
Droop,  fail,  and  wither  in  the  gazer's  eye. 

The  greenest  leaf,  divided  from  its  stem, 
To  speedy  withering  doth  itself  condemn. 

The  largest  river,  from  its  fountain-head 
Cut  off,  leaves  soon  a  parched  and  dusty  bed. 

All  things  that  live,  from  God  their  sustenance  wait ; 
And  sun  and  moon  are  beggars  at  his  gate. 

All  skirts  extended  of  thy  mantle  hold. 

When  angel-hands  from  heaven  are  scattering  gold. 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


'O— +1}^ 


F|t~^ — e^-l#i 

30^  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 


THE       ANSWER. 


"   A  LLAH,   Allah!"    cried    the  sick   man,  racked 

•^  ^     with  pain  the  long  night  through  ; 
Till  with  prayer  his  heart  grew  tender,  till  his  lips  like 
honey  grew. 

But  at  morning  came  the  tempter,  said,  "  Call  louder, 

child  of  pain ! 
See  if  Allah  ever  hears,  or  answers,   *  Here  am  I ! ' 


Like  a  stab  the  cruel  cavil  through  his  brain  and 

pulses  went ; 
To  his  heart  an  icy  coldness,  to  his  brain  a  darkness 

sent. 

Then  before  him  stands  Elias,  says,  "  My  child,  why 

thus  dismayed  ? 
Dost  repent  thy  former  fervor  ?   Is  thy  soul  of  prayer 

afraid  ? " 

**  Ah  !  "  he  cried,  "  Tve  called  so  often  ;  never  heard 

the  *  Here  am  I :  * 
And  I  thought  God  will  not  pity,  will  not  turn  on  me 

his  eye." 

Then  the  grave  Elias  answered,   "  God  said,  '■  Rise, 

Elias  ;  go 
Speak  to  him  the  sorely  tempted  ;  lift  him  from  his  gulf 

of  woe. 


-o—^j? 


— 0 — m 

SONGS  OF  ASPIRATION.  3^9 

"  '  Tell  him  that  his  very  longing  is  itself  an  answering 
cry ; 

That  his  prayer,  "  Come,  gracious  Allah  ! "  is  my  an- 
swer, "  Here  am  I."  '  " 

Every  inmost  aspiration  is  God's  angel  undefiled  ; 
And  in  every  "  O  my  Father  "  slumbers  deep  a  "  Here, 
my  child ! " 

1856.  DSCHELADEDDIN,    ThOLUCK's    VERSION. 


THE      SUPPLIANT. 

A  LL  night  the  lonely  suppliant  prayed, 
-^~^     All  night  his  earnest  crying  made, 
Till,  standing  by  his  side  at  morn, 
The  tempter  said  in  bitter  scorn, 

"  Oh,  peace  !  what  profit  do  you  gain 
From  empty  words  and  babblings  vain  ? 
*  Come,  Lord,  oh  come  ! '  you  cry  alway  ; 
You  pour  your  heart  out  night  and  day  ; 
Yet  still  no  murmur  of  reply,  — 
No  voice  that  answers,  *  Here  am  I ! '  " 

Then  sank  that  stricken  heart  in  dust. 
That  word  had  withered  all  its  trust ; 
No  strength  retained  it  now  to  pray. 
While  Faith  and  Hope  had  fled  away : 
And  ill  that  mourner  now  had  fared, 
Thus  by  the  tempter's  art  ensnared, 
But  that  at  length  beside  his  bed 
His  sorrowing  angel  stood,  and  said, 


,44—0 — 

3IO  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

"  Doth  it  repent  thee  of  thy  love, 
That  never  now  is  heard  above 
Thy  prayer  ;  that  now  not  any  more 
It  knocks  at  heaven's  gate  as  before  ? " 
—  "I  am  cast  out,  —  I  find  no  place, 
No  hearing,  at  the  throne  of  grace. 
'Come,  Lord,  oh  come ! '  I  cry  alway, 
I  pour  my  heart  out  night  and  day, 
Yet  never  until  now  have  won 
The  answer,  — '  Here  am  I,  my  son.'  " 

"  O  dull  of  heart !  enclosed  doth  lie, 

In  each  *  Come,  Lord,'  a  *  Here  am  I.* 

Thy  love,  thy  longing,  are  not  thine,  — 

Reflections  of  a  love  divine  : 

Thy  very  prayer  to  thee  was  given, 

Itself  a  messenger  from  heaven. 

Whom  God  rejects,  they  are  not  so  ; 

Strong  bands  are  round  them  in  their  woe, 

Their  hearts  are  bound  with  bands  of  brass, 

That  sigh  or  crying  cannot  pass. 

All  treasures  did  the  Lord  impart 

To  Pharaoh,  save  a  contrite  heart : 

All  other  gifts  unto  his  foes 

He  freely  gives,  nor  grudging  knows  ; 

But  Love's  sweet  smart  and  costly  pain 

A  treasure  for  his  friends  remain. 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


SO.VGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  311 

FAIN  WOULD   MY  THOUGHTS   FLY  UP  TO  THEE. 

TIj^AIN  would  my  thoughts  fly  up  to  thee, 
-■■        Thy  peace,  sweet  Lord,  to  find  ; 
But,  when  I  offer,  still  the  world 
Lays  clogs  upon  my  mind. 

Sometimes  I  climb  a  little  way, 

And  thence  look  down  below : 
How  nothing,  there,  do  all  things  seem, 

That  here  make  such  a  show ! 

Then  round  about  I  turn  mine  eyes 

To  feast  my  hungry  sight ; 
I  meet  with  heaven  in  every  thing, 

In  every  thing  delight. 

I  see  thy  wisdom  ruling  all. 

And  it  with  joy  admire ; 
I  see  myself  among  such  hopes 

As  set  my  heart  on  fire. 

When  I  have  thus  triumphed  awhile. 

And  think  to  build  my  nest, 
Some  cross-conceits  come  fluttering  by. 

And  interrupt  my  rest. 

Then  to  the  earth  again  I-  fall. 

And  from  my  low  dust  cry, 
'Twas  not  in  my  wing,  Lord,  but  thine, 

That  I  got  up  so  high. 


312  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

And  now,  my  God,  whether  I  rise 

Or  still  lie  down  in  dust, 
Both  I  submit  to  thy  blest  will  ; 

In  both  on  thee  I  trust. 

Guide  thou  my  way,  who  art  thyself 

Mine  everlasting  end, 
That  every  step,  or  swift  or  slow, 

Still  to  thyself  may  tend  ! 

To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

One  consubstantial  Three, 
All  highest  praise,  all  humblest  thanks. 

Now  and  for  ever  be  !     Amen. 

1668.  John  Austin. 


I   WOULD   THAT   I   WERE   FAIRER,   LORD. 

T  WOULD  that  I  were  fairer.  Lord, 
■*■     More  what  thy  bride  should  be. 
More  meet  to  be  the  sharer,  Lord, 
Of  love  and  heaven  with  thee  ; 
Yet  if  thy  love  with  me  thou'lt  share, 
I  know  that  love  can  make  me  fair. 

Oh,  would  that  I  were  purer.  Lord  ! 

More  filled  with  grace  divine. 
Oh,  would  that  I  were  surer.  Lord, 

That  my  whole  heart  is  thine  ! 
Were  it  so  pure  that  I  might  see 
Thy  beauty,  I  would  grow  like  thee. 


_ 0— if$: 

SOJVGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  313 

Oh,  would  that  I  could  higher,  Lord, 

Above  these  senses  live  ! 
Each  feeling,  each  desire,  my  Lord, 

Could  wholly  to  thee  give  ! 
The  love  I  thus  would  daily  share, 
That  love  alone  would  make  me  fair. 

,837,  ••  J.    B.    MONSELL. 


THE   CHILD   ON   THE  JUDGMENT-SEAT. 

WHERE  hast  been  toihng  all  day,  sweetheart, 
That  thy  brow  is  burdened  and  sad  ? 
The  Master's  work  may  make  weary  feet, 
But  it  leaves  the  spirit  glad. 

Was  thy  garden  nipped  wdth  the  midnight  frost, 
Or  scorched  with  the  mid-day  glare  ? 

Were  thy  vines  laid  low,  or  thy  lilies  crushed. 
That  thy  face  is  so  full  of  care  ? 

"  No  pleasant  garden-toils  were  mine  ! 

I  have  sat  on  the  judgment-seat. 
Where  the  Master  sits  at  eve,  and  calls 

The  children  around  his  feet." 

How  camest  thou  on  the  judgment-seat, 

Sweetheart  ?  who  set  thee  there  ? 
'Tis  a  lonely  and  lofty  seat  for  thee. 

And  well  might  fill  thee  with  care. 


_ 0 — Hfe 

314  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

"  I  climbed  on  the  judgment-seat  myself ; 

I  have  sat  there  alone  all  day  ; 
For  it  grieved  me  to  see  the  children  around 

Idling  their  life  away. 

"  They  wasted  the  Master's  precious  seed, 

They  wasted  the  precious  hours  ; 
They  trained  not  the  vines,  nor  gathered  the  fruits, 

And  they  trampled  the  sweet,  meek  flowers." 

And  what  hast  thou  done  on  the  judgment-seat, 

Sweetheart  ?  what  didst  thou  there  ? 
Would  the  idlers  heed  thy  childish  voice  ? 

Did  the  garden  mend  by  thy  care  ? 

"  Nay,  that  grieved  me  more  !    I  called  and  I  cried, 

But  they  left  me  there  forlorn  ; 
My  voice  was  weak,  and  they  heeded  not, 

Or  they  laughed  my  words  to  scorn." 

Ah,  the  judgment-seat  was  not  for  thee! 

The  servants  were  not  thine  ! 
And  the  Eyes  which  adjudge  the  praise  and  the  blame. 

See  further  than  thine  or  mine. 

The  Voice  that  shall  sound  there  at  eve,  sweetheart, 

Will  not  raise  its  tones  to  be  heard  : 
It  will  hush  the  earth,  and  hush  the  hearts, 

And  none  will  resist  its  word. 

"  Should  I  see  the  Master's  treasures  lost. 

The  stores  that  should  feed  his  poor. 
And  not  lift  my  voice,  be  it  weak  as  it  may, 


And  not  be  grieved  sore  ?  " 


% 


SOiVGS  OF  ASPIRATION.  315 

Wait  till  the  evening  falls,  sweetheart, 

Wait  till  the  evening  falls  ; 
The  Master  is  near,  and  knoweth  all : 

Wait  till  the  Master  calls. 

But  how  fared  thy  garden-plot,  sweetheart. 
Whilst  thou  sat'st  on  the  judgment-seat  ? 

Who  watered  thy  roses,  and  trained  thy  vines. 
And  kept  them  from  careless  feet  ? 

"  Nay,  that  is  saddest  of  all  to  me  ! 

That  is  saddest  of  all ! 
My  vines  are  traiUng,  my  roses  are  parched. 

My  lilies  droop  and  fall." 

Go  back  to  thy  garden-plot,  sweetheart, 

Go  back  till  the  evening  falls  : 
And  bind  thy  hUes,  and  train  thy  vines, 

Till  for  thee  the  Master  calls. 

Go  make  thy  garden  fair  as  thou  canst,  -^ 

Thou  workest  never  alone  ; 
Perchance  he  whose  plot  is  next  to  thine 

Will  see  it,  and  mend  his  own. 

And  the  next  may  copy  his,  sweetheart, 

Till  all  grows  fair  and  sweet ; 
And,  when  the  Master  comes  at  eve, 

Happy  faces  his  coming  will  greet. 

Then  shall  thy  joy  be  full,  sweetheart, 

In  the  garden  so  fair  to  see  : 
In  the  Master's  words  of  praise  for  all, 

In  a  look  of  his  own  for  thee. 

Mrs-  Charles. 


^H — o- 


% 


3l6  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


NOT   THOU   FROM   US,   O   LORD! 


N 


OT  thou  from  us,  O  Lord  !  but  we 
Withdraw  ourselves  from  thee. 


When  we  are  dark  and  dead, 
And  thou  art  covered  with  a  cloud, 
Hanging  before  thee  like  a  shroud, 
So  that  our  jDrayer  can  find  no  way, 
Oh  teach  us  that  we  do  not  say, 

"  Where  is  thy  brightness  fled  ?  " 

But  that  we  search  and  try 
What  in  ourselves  has  wrought  this  blame, 
For  thou  remainest  still  the  same  ; 
But  earth's  own  vapors  earth  may  fill 
With  darkness  and  thick  clouds,  while  still 

The  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


SUPPLICATION. 

OPIRIT  of  God  !  descend  upon  my  heart ; 

^^     Wean   it   from  earth ;   through  all  its  pulses 

move  ; 
Stoop  to  my  weakness,  mighty  as  thou  art, 
And  make  me  love  thee  as  I  ought  to  love. 

I  ask  no  dream,  no  prophet  ecstasies  ; 

No  sudden  rending  of  the  veil  of  clay  ; 
No  angel-visitant,  no  opening  skies ; 

But  take  the  dimness  of  my  soul  away. 


^H— -0- 


4 


SONGS  OF  ASPIRATION.  317 

Hast  thou  not  bid  us  love  thee,  God  and  King  ? 

All,    all   thine    own,    soul,    heart,    and  strength, 
and  mind  ; 
I  see  thy  cross,  —  there  teach  my  heart  to  cling  ! 

Oh  let  me  seek  thee,  and  oh  let  me  find  ! 

Teach  me  to  feel  that  thou  art  always  nigh  ; 

Teach  me  the  struggles  of  the  soul  to  bear ; 
To  check  the  rising  doubt,  the  rebel  sigh  ; 

Teach  me  the  patience  of  unanswered  prayer. 

Teach  me  to  love  thee  as  thine  angels  love, 
One  holy  passion  filling  all  my  frame  ; 

The  baptism  of  the  heaven-descended  Dove, 
My  heart  an  altar,  and  thy  love  the  flame ! 

1854.  George  Croly. 


SUPPLICATION. 

"rpATHER,  I  know  that  all  my  life 

-^        Is  portioned  out  for  me, 

And  the  changes  that  are  sure  to  come 

I  do  not  fear  to  see  ; 
But  I  ask  thee  for  a  present  mind, 

Intent  on  pleasing  thee. 

I  ask  thee  for  a  thoughtful  love, 
Through  constant  watching  wise, 

To  meet  the  glad  with  joyful  smiles 
And  wipe  the  weeping  eyes  ; 

And  a  heart  at  leisure  from  itself. 
To  soothe  and  sympathize. 


-0 — H» 


3l8  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

I  would  not  have  the  restless  will 

That  hurries  to  and  fro, 
Seeking  for  some  great  thing  to  do, 

Or  secret  thing  to  know  : 
I  would  be  treated  as  a  child, 

And  guided  where  I  go. 

Wherever  in  the  world  I  am, 

In  whatsoe'er  estate, 
I  have  a  fellowship  with  hearts 

To  keep  and  cultivate. 
And  a  work  of  lowly  love  to  do. 

From  the  Lord  on  whom  I  wait. 

So  I  ask  thee  for  the  daily  strength 

To  none  that  ask  denied, 
And  a  mind  to  blend  with  outward  life. 

While  keeping  at  thy  side  ; 
Content  to  fill  a  little  space, 

If  thou  be  glorified. 

And  if  some  things  I  do  not  ask. 

In  my  cup  of  blessing  be, 
I  would  have  my  spirit  filled  the  more 

With  grateful  love  to  thee,  — 
More  careful,  not  to  serve  thee  much, 

But  to  please  thee  perfectly. 

There  are  briers  besetting  every  path, 
That  call  for  patient  care ; 

There  is  a  cross  in  every  lot, 

And  an  earnest  need  for  prayer  ; 

But  a  lowly  heart  that  leans  on  thee, 
Is  happy  anywhere. 


4hP-^ 


SONGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  Z^9 

In  a  service  which  thy  will  appoints, 

There  are  no  bonds  for  me  ; 
For  mine  inmost  heart  is  taught  the  truth, 

That  makes  thy  children  free  ; 
And  a  life  of  self-renouncing  love 

Is  a  life  of  liberty. 

1850.  A.  L.  Waring. 


THE   WISH    OF   TO-DAY. 

T  ASK  not  now  for  gold  to  gild 
-*-     With  mocking  shine  a  weary  frame  ; 
The  yearning  of  the  mind  is  stilled,  — 
I  ask  not  now  for  fame. 

A  rose-cloud  dimly  seen  above, 

Melting  in  heaven's  blue  depths  away, 

0  sweet,  fond  dream  of  human  love, 

For  thee  I  may  not  pray. 

But,  bowed  in  lowliness  of  mind, 
I  make  my  humble  wishes  known, 

1  only  ask  a  will  resigned, 

O  Father,  to  thine  own. 

To-day,  beneath  thy  chastening  eye, 

I  crave  alone  for  peace  and  rest, 
Submissive  in  thy  hand  to  lie, 
And  feel  that  it  is  best. 

A  marvel  seems  the  universe, 

A  miracle  our  life  and  death  ; 

A  mystery  which  I  cannot  pierce, 

Around,  above,  beneath ! 


-0 — Hh 


320  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

In  vain  I  task  mine  aching  brain, 

In  vain  the  sage's  thought  I  scan  : 
I  only  feel  how  weak  and  vain 
And  poor  and  blind  is  man. 

And  now  my  spirit  sighs  for  home, 

And  longs  for  light  whereby  to  see, 
And  like  a  weary  child  would  come, 
O  Father,  unto  thee ! 

Though  oft,  like  letters  traced  on  sand. 
My  weak  resolves  have  passed  away, 
In  mercy  lend  thy  helping  hand 
Unto  my  prayer  to-day  ! 

1850.  J.  G.  Whittier. 


PER   PACEM   AD   LUCEM. 

T  DO  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  life  may  be 
-■-  A  pleasant  road  ; 

I  do  not  ask  that  thou  wouldst  take  from  me 
Aught  of  its  load. 

I  do  not  ask  that  flowers  should  always  spring 

Beneath  my  feet  : 
I  know  too  well  the  poison  and  the  sting 

Of  things  too  sweet. 

For  one  thing  only,  Lord,  dear  Lord,  I  plead, 

Lead  me  aright  — 
Though  strength  should  falter,  and  though  heart 
should  bleed  — 

Through  peace  to  light. 


SOA'GS  OF  ASPIRATION.  321 

I  do  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  thou  shouldst  shed 

Full  radiance  here  : 
Give  but  a  ray  of  peace,  that  I  may  tread 

Without  a  fear. 

I  do  not  ask  my  cross  to  understand, 

My  way  to  see  : 
Better  in  darkness  just  to  feel  thy  hand, 

And  follow  thee. 

Joy  is  like  restless  day,  but  peace  divine 

Like  quiet  night  : 
Lead  me,  O  Lord,  till  perfect  day  shall  shine, 

Through  peace  to  light. 

1858.  Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


PRUNE    THOU   THY   WORDS. 

"DRUNE  thou  thy  words,  the  thoughts  control 
-*-        That  o'er  thee  swell  and  throng  : 
They  will  condense  within  thy  soul, 
And  change  to  purpose  strong. 

But  he  who  lets  his  feelings  run 

In  soft,  luxurious  flow, 
Shrinks  when  hard  service  must  be  done, 

And  faints  at  every  woe. 

Faith's  meanest  deed  more  favor  bears. 
Where  hearts  and  wills  are  weighed, 

Than  brightest  transports,  choicest  prayers, 
That  bloom  their  hour  and  fade. 

1833.  John  H.  Newmam. 

21 


%^ ^ 

\22  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


O   LIVING   WILL,   THAT   SHALT   ENDURE. 

r\  LIVING  Will,  that  Shalt  endure 

^^     When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 

Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock. 
Flow  through  our  deeds,  and  make  them  pure  ! 

That  we  may  lift  from  out  the  dust 
A  voice  as  unto  Him  that  hears 
A  cry  above  the  conquered  years. 

To  One  that  with  us  works,  and  trusts, 

With  faith  that  comes  of  self-control, 
The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved, 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved, 

And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 

1842.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


THE      ELIXIR. 

n^EACH  me,  my  God  and  King, 

-^       In  thee  all  things  to  see  ; 
And  what  I  do  in  any  thing, 
To  do  it  as  for  thee. 


Not  rudely,  as  a  beast. 

To  run  into  an  action  ; 
But  still  to  make  thee  prepossest, 

And  give  it  his  perfection. 


SOA'GS  OF  ASPIRATION.  323 

A  man  that  looks  on  glass, 

On  it  may  stay  his  eye, 
Or,  if  he  pleases,  through  it  pass, 

And  then  the  heavens  espy. 

All  may  of  thee  partake  : 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean 
Which  with  this  tincture,  "  For  thy  sake," 

Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 

A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgery  divine ; 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  by  thy  laws, 

Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 

This  is  the  famous  stone, 

That  turneth  all  to  gold  ; 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  own 

Cannot  for  less  be  told. 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


JESU,   MY   STRENGTH,   MY   HOPE. 

TESU,  my  strength,  my  hope, 
^      On  thee  I  cast  my  care, 
With  humble  confidence  look  up. 

And  know  thou  hear'st  my  prayer. 
Give  me  on  thee  to  wait 

Till  I  can  all  things  do. 
On  thee,  Almighty  to  create. 

Almighty  to  renew  ! 


f 


^ 

324  SOJVGS    OF   THE   SOUL, 

I  want  a  sober  mind, 

A  self-renouncing  will, 
That  tramples  down  and  casts  behind 

The  baits  of  pleasing  ill : 
A  soul  inured  to  pain, 

To  hardship,  grief,  and  loss  ; 
Bold  to  take  up,  firm  to  sustain, 

The  consecrated  cross. 

I  want  a  godly  fear, 

A  quick,  discerning  eye, 
That  looks  to  thee  when  sin  is  near, 

And  sees  the  Tempter  fly. 
A  spirit  still  prepared, 

And  armed  with  jealous  care. 
For  ever  standing  on  its  guard, 

And  watching  unto  prayer. 

I  want  a  heart  to  pray. 

To  pray  and  never  cease, 
Never  to  murmur  at  thy  stay, 

Or  wish  my  sufferings  less  ; 
This  blessing  above  all, 

Always  to  pray,  I  want, 
Out  of  the  deep  on  thee  to  call, 

And  never,  never  faint. 

I  want  a  true  regard, 

A  single,  steady  aim, 
Unmoved  by  threatening  or  reward, 

To  thee  and  thy  great  name ; 


SO.VGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  325 

A  jealous,  just  concern 

For  thine  immortal  praise  ; 
A  pure  desire  that  all  may  learn 

And  glorify  thy  grace. 

I  rest  upon  thy  word  ; 

Thy  promise  is  for  me  ; 
My  succor  and  salvation,  Lord, 

Shall  surely  come  from  thee. 
But  let  me  still  abide, 

Nor  from  my  hope  remove, 
Till  thou  my  patient  spirit  guide 

Into  thy  perfect  love. 

Charles  Weslsy. 


JESUS,   LOVER   OF   MY   SOUL. 

JESUS,  Lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  billows  near  me  roll. 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high : 
Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour !  hide, 
Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past ; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide  : 
Oh  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none,  — 
Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee 

Leave,  ah  !  leave  me  not  alone  ; 
Still  support  and  comfort  me : 


^H— ^ 


326  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

All  my  trust  on  thee  is  stayed, 
All  my  help  from  thee  I  bring : 

Cover  my  defenceless  head 
With  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Thou,  O  Christ,  art  all  I  want  ; 

Boundless  love  in  thee  I  find : 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint, 

Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 
Just  and  holy  is  thy  name,  — 

I  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 
Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am,  — 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

1740.  Charles  Wesley. 


THE  ROSEATE  HUES  OF  EARLY  DAWN. 

'TPHE  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn, 

-*-       The  brightness  of  the  day. 
The  crimson  of  the  sunset  sky. 

How  fast  they  fade  away  ! 
Oh  for  the  pearly  gates  of  heaven  ! 

Oh  for  the  golden  floor  ! 
Oh  for  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 

That  setteth  nevermore ! 

The  higher  hopes  we  cherish  here, 
How  fast  they  tire  and  faint ! 

How  many  a  spot  defiles  the  robe 
That  wraps  an  earthly  saint ! 


iH — 0- 


^H— ^ 


SONGS  OF  ASPIRATION.  327 

Oh  for  a  heart  that  never  sins  ! 

Oh  for  a  soul  washed  white ! 
Oh  for  a  voice  to  praise  our  King, 

Nor  weary  day  or  night ! 

Here  faith  is  ours,  and  heavenly  hope, 

And  grace  to  lead  us  higher ; 
But  there  are  perfectness  and  peace 

Beyond  our  best  desire. 
Oh,  by  thy  love  and  anguish.  Lord  ! 

Oh,  by  thy  life  laid  down ! 
Oh,  that  we  fall  not  from  thy  grace, 

Nor  cast  away  our  crown  ! 

[853.  Cecil  F.  Alexander. 


SOMETHING  FOR  THEE. 

OOMETHING,  my  God,  for  thee, 
^^     Something  for  thee  ; 
That  each  day's  setting  sun  may  bring 
Some  penitential  offering ; 
In  thy  dear  name  some  kindness  done ; 
To  thy  dear  love  some  wanderer  won  ; 
Some  trial  meekly  borne  for  thee, 
Dear  Lord,  for  thee. 

Something,  my  God,  for  thee. 

Something  for  thee  ; 
That  to  thy  gracious  throne  may  rise 
Sweet  incense  from  some  sacrifice,  — 


-M±—o- 


328  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Uplifted  eyes  undimmed  by  tears, 
Uplifted  faith  unstained  by  fears, 
Hailing  each  joy  as  light  from  thee, 
Dear  Lord,  from  thee. 

Something,  my  God,  for  thee. 

Something  for  thee ; 
For  the  great  love  that  thou  hast  given, 
For  the  great  hope  of  thee  and  heaven, 
My  soul  her  first  allegiance  brings. 
And  upward  plumes  her  heavenward  wings, 
"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee  !  " 


YEARNING. 

{From  the  Persian.') 

T  TAFFY  name  I  you,  my  brethren,  who,  not  ever 
-*-  -^     doomed  to  roam. 

In  the  Eternal  Father's  mansion  from  the  first  have 
dwelt  at  home. 

Round  the  Father's  throne  for  ever  standing,  in  his 

countenance 
Sunning  you,  you  see  the  seven  circling  heavens  around 

you  dance. 

Me  he  has  cast  out  to  exile,  in  a  distant  land  to  learn 
How  I  should  love  him  the  Father,  how  for  that  true 
country  yearn. 


rtH— 0- 


SO.VGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  329 

I  lie  here,  a  star  of  heaven,  fallen  upon  this  gloomy 

place, 
Scarce  remembering  what  bright  courses  I  was  once 

allowed  to  trace. 

Still  in  dreams  it  comes  upon  me  that  I  once  on  wings 

did  soar ; 
But,  or  ere  my  flight  commences,  this  my  dream  must 

all  be  o'er. 

When  the  lark  is  climbing  upward  on  the  sunbeam, 

then  I  feel 
Even  as  though  my  spirit  also  hidden  pinions  could 

reveal. 

I,  a  rose-bush,  to  this  lower  soil  of  earth  am  fastly 

bound. 
And,  with  heavenly  dew  besprinkled,  still  am  rooted  to 

the  ground. 

Yet  the  life  is  struggling  upward,  striving  still,  with  all 

their  might. 
Yearning  buds  their  cups  to  open  to  the  warmth  and 

heavenly  light. 

From  its  stalk  released,  my  flower  soars  not  yet,  —  a 

butterfly ; 
But    meanwhile    my   fragrant    incense   evermore     I 

breathe  on  high. 

From  this  gloomy  land  of  vapors,  where  the  hurricanes 

surprise. 
Lightning  scorches,  and  hail  lashes,  and  the  thunder 

terrifies, 


14  jj — 0 0 — Hie 


rJH— 0- 


330  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

By  my  Gardener  to  his  garden  I  shall  once  transplanted 
be, 

There  where  I  have  been  already  written  from  eter- 
nity. 

O  my  brothers,  blooming  yonder,  unto  him  the  Ancient 

pray, 
That  the  hour  of  my  transplanting  he  will  not  for  long 

delay. 

1856.  Trans,  by  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


THE   LIFE   ABOVE,   THE   LIFE   ON   HIGH. 

{Vivo  sin  vivir  e7i  mi.) 

'T^HE  life  above,  the  life  on  high, 
-*-     Alone  is  life  in  verity  ; 
Nor  can  we  life  at  all  enjoy 
Till  this  poor  life  is  o'er. 
Then,  O  sweet  Death,  no  longer  fly 
From  me,  who,  ere  my  time  to  die. 

Am  dying  evermore  ; 
For  evermore  I  weep  and  sigh. 
Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

To  Him  who  deigns  in  me  to  live. 
What  better  gift  have  I  to  give, 
O  my  poor  earthly  life,  than  thee  ? 

Too  glad  of  thy  decay. 
So  but  I  may  the  sooner  see 
That  face  of  sweetest  majesty, 

For  which  I  pine  away  ; 


w-<^ 


— ■ 0— -jf$ 

sojvgs  of  aspiration.  331 

While  evermore  I  weep  and  sigh, 
Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

Absent  from  thee,  my  Saviour  dear, 
I  call  not  life  this  living  here, 
But  a  long  dying  agony, 

The  sharpest  I  have  known  ; 
And  I  myself,  myself  to  see 
In  such  a  rack  of  misery. 

For  very  pity  moan  ; 
And  ever,  ever  weep  and  sigh, 
Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

Ah,  Lord  !  my  light  and  living  breath. 
Take  me,  oh  take  me  from  this  death. 
And  burst  the  bars  that  sever  me 

From  my  true  life  above  ! 
Think  how  I  die  thy  face  to  see. 
And  cannot  live  away  from  thee, 

O  my  eternal  love  ! 
And  ever,  ever  weep  and  sigh. 
Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

I  weary  of  this  endless  strife  ; 

I  weary  of  this  dying  life, 

This  living  death,  this  heavy  chain. 

This  torment  of  delay. 
In  which  her  sins  my  soul  detain. 
Ah,  when  shall  it  be  mine  !     Ah,  when 

With  my  last  breath  to  s^y, 
No  more  I  weep,  no  more  I  sigh, 
I'm  dying  of  desire  to  die  ! 

1582.  St.  Teresa  of  Spain,  trans,  by  Edward  Caswall. 


332  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


UPWARD. 


TVTEARER,  my  God,  to  thee, 
-^  ^      Nearer  to  thee  ! 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me  ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 

Though  like  the  wanderer, 

The  sun  gone  down. 
Darkness  be  over  me. 

My  rest  a  stone  ; 
Yet  in  my  dreams  I'll  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 

There  let  my  way  appear 

Steps  unto  heaven  ; 
All  that  thou  sendest  me. 

In  mercy  given, 
Angels  to  beckon  me 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee ! 

Then,  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  thy  praise. 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs 
Bethel  I'll  raise  ; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee  ! 


SH— 0 ■ ■ —         0    i$, 

SOiVGS   OF  ASPIRATION.  333 

Or,  if  on  jo}'ful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 

,840.  Sarah  F.  Adams. 


m — <y 


i(l 0 0 Hi; 


SONGS    OF    FAITH, 


«H-^ 


-0 Hi 


SONGS    OF    FAITH. 


y^^s- 


STRONG   SON   OF   GOD,    IMMORTAL   LOVE. 

OTRONG  Son  of  God,  immortal  love, 
^^     Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace. 
Believing  where  we  cannot  prove  ; 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade  ; 

Thou  madest  life  in  man  and  brute  ; 

Thou  madest  death  ;  and  lo  !  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust  : 
Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die  ; 

And  thou  hast  made  him,  —  thou  art  just. 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine  ; 

The  highest,  holiest  manhood  thou. 

Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how  : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day  ; 

They  have  their  day,  and  cease  to  be  : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 

And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

22 


^ 

340  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

From  them  that  in  her  courts  ye  saw, 
Her  perfect  doctors  of  the  law, 
What  is  it  came  ye  here  to  note  ? 
A  young  man  preaching  in  a  boat  ! 

A  prophet  !     Boys  and  women  weak  ! 

Declare,  or  cease  to  rave  ; 
Whence  is  it  he  hath  learned  to  speak  ? 

Say  who  his  doctrine  gave  ? 
A  prophet  ?     Prophet  wherefore  he 

Of  all  in  Israel's  tribes  ? 
He  teacJieth  with  aiUhority, 

And  not  as  do  the  scribes  ! 

1861.  Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


FAITH  AND   SIGHT  IN  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 

(/  prae  :   seqiiar.^ 

"  I  ^HOU  sayest,  "  Take  up  thy  cross, 

-^       O  man,  and  follow  me  :  " 
The  night  is  black,  the  feet  are  slack, 
Yet  we  would  follow  thee. 

But,  O  dear  Lord,  we  cry. 

That  we  thy  face  could  see ! 
Thy  blessed  face,  one  moment's  space, 

Then  might  we  follow  thee ! 

Dim  tracts  of  time  divide 

Those  golden  days  from  me  ; 
Thy  voice  comes  strange  o'er  years  of  change  : 

How  can  I  follow  thee  ? 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  341 

Comes  faint  and  far  thy  voice 

From  vales  of  Galilee  ; 
Thy  vision  fades  in  ancient  shades  : 

How  should  we  follow  thee  ? 

Unchanging  law  binds  all, 

And  nature  all  we  see : 
Thou  art  a  star,  far  off,  too  far, 

Too  far  to  follow  thee  ! 

Ah,  sense-bound  heart,  and  Wind ! 

Is  naught  but  what  we  see  ? 
Can  time  undo  what  once  was  true  ? 

Can  we  not  follow  thee  ? 

Is  what  we  trace  of  law 

The  whole  of  God's  decree  ? 
Does  our  brief  span  grasp  Nature's  plan, 

And  bid  not  follow  thee  ? 

O  heavy  cross  —  of  faith 

In  what  we  cannot  see  ! 
As  once  of  yore,  thyself  restore, 

And  help  to  follow  thee ! 

If  not  as  once  thou  earnest 

In  true  humanity, 
Come  yet  as  guest  within  the  breast 

That  burns  to  follow  thee. 

Within  our  heart  of  hearts 

In  nearest  nearness  be : 
Set  up  thy  throne  within  thine  own : 

Go,  Lord  ;  we  follow  thee  ! 

1868.  FRANas  Turner  Palgr.wti. 


_ 0— f* 

342  SOiVGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

WHILE   FAITH    IS   WITH    ME. 

^T  7HILE  faith  is  with  me  I  am  blest, 
^^     It  turns  my  darkest  night  to  day  ; 
But,  while  I  clasp  it  to  my  breast, 
I  often  feel  it  slide  away. 

Then,  cold  and  dark,  my  spirit  sinks, 

To  see  my  light  of  life  depart ; 
And  every  friend  of  hell,  methinks, 

Enjoys  the  anguish  of  my  heart. 

What  shall  I  do  if  all  my  love. 

My  hopes,  my  toil,  are  cast  away  ; 
And  if  there  be  no  God  above 

To  hear  and  bless  me  when  I  pray } 

If  this  be  vain  delusion  all, 

If  death  be  an  eternal  sleep, 
And  none  can  hear  my  secret  call, 

Or  see  the  silent  tears  I  weep. 

Oh  help  me,  God !  for  thou  alone 

Canst  my  distracted  soul  relieve  ; 
Forsake  it  not :  it  is  thine  own, 

Though  weak,  yet  longing  to  believe. 

Oh  drive  these  cruel  doubts  away, 

And  make  me  know  that  thou  art  God  ! 

A  faith  that  shines  by  night  and  day. 
Will  lighten  every  earthly  load. 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  343 

If  I  believed  that  Jesus  died, 
And  waking  rose  to  reign  above, 

Then  surely  sorrow,  sin,  and  pride 

Must  yield  to  peace,  and  hope,  and  love. 

And  all  the  blessed  words  he  said 
Will  strength  and  holy  joy  impart, 

A  shield  of  safety  o'er  my  head, 
A  spring  of  comfort  in  my  heart ! 

1849.  Anxe  Bronte. 


PSALM      LIII. 

TT  7ITH  years  oppressed,  with  sorrows  worn, 
^  ^       Dejected,  harassed,  sick,  forlorn, 

To  thee,  O  God,  I  pray  ; 
To  thee  my  withered  hands  arise. 
To  thee  I  lift  these  failing  eyes : 

Oh  cast  me  not  away ! 

Thy  mercy  heard  mine  infant  prayer  ; 
Thy  love,  with  all  a  mother's  care. 

Sustained  my  childish  days  ; 
Thy  goodness  watched  my  ripening  youth. 
And  formed  my  heart  to  love  thy  truth. 

And  filled  my  lips  with  praise. 

O  Saviour  !  has  thy  grace  declined  .? 
Can  years  affect  the  Eternal  mind. 

Or  time  its  love  decay  .? 
A  thousand  ages  pass  thy  sight, 
And  all  their  long  and  weary  flight 

Is  gone  hke  yesterday. 


0—1* 

344  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Then,  even  in  age  and  grief,  thy  name 
Shall  still  my  languid  heart  inflame, 

And  bow  my  faltering  knee  : 
Oh  !  yet  this  bosom  feels  the  fire. 
This  trembling  hand  and  drooping  lyre 

Have  yet  a  strain  for  thee. 

Yes  !  broken,  tuneless,  still,  O  Lord, 
This  voice  transported  shall  record 

Thy  goodness  tried  so  long  : 
Till,  sinking  slow,  with  calm  decay 
Its  feeble  murmurs  melt  away 

Into  a  seraph's  song. 

1839.  r  Sir  Robert  Grant. 


AT   DEAD   OF   NIGHT. 
{Utn  Mitternacht  bin  ich  eriuacht.') 


A 


T  dead  of  night 

Sleep  took  her  flight : 
I  gazed  abroad,  no  star  of  all  the  crowds 
That  people  heaven,  was  smiling  through  the  clouds 
To  cheer  my  sight 
That  dreary  night. 

At  dead  of  night 

I  scaled  the  height 
Of  giddy  question  o'er  our  mortal  lot : 
My  searchings  found  no  answer,  brought  me  not 

One  ray  of  light 

In  that  deep  night. 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  345 

At  dead  of  night 

In  still  affright 
I  turned,  and  listened  to  my  throbbing  heart : 
One  pulse  of  pain  alone,  whose  ancient  smart 

Hath  dimmed  sweet  light, 

Beat  there  that  night. 

At  dead  of  night 

I  fought  the  fight. 
Humanity,  of  all  thy  pains  and  woes  : 
My  strength  could  not  decide  it,  and  my  foes 

O'erwhelmed  me  quite 

At  dead  of  night. 

At  dead  of  night 

All  power  and  might 
I  yielded.  Lord  of  life  and  death,  to  thee, 
And  learn  thou  watchedst  with  me,  and  that  we 

Are  in  thy  sight 

In  deepest  night. 

i860.  RUCKERT,    TRANS.    BY    MiSS   WiNKWORTH. 


THE   KINGDOM   OF   GOD. 

T   SAY  to  thee,  —  do  thou  repeat 

-*-     To  the  first  man  thou  mayest  meet 

In  lane,  highway,  or  open  street. 

That  he  and  we  and  all  men  move 

Under  a  canopy  of  love. 

As  broad  as  the  blue  sky  above ; 


-0 — \^y 


■^—\^b 


346  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

That  doubt  and  trouble,  fear  and  pain 
And  anguish,  all  are  shadows  vain, 
That  death  itself  shall  not  remain  ; 

That  weary  deserts  we  may  tread, 
A  dreary  labyrinth  may  thread, 
Through  dark  ways  underground  be  led  ; 

Yet,  if  we  will  one  Guide  obey. 
The  dreariest  path,  the  darkest  way. 
Shall  issue  out  in  heavenly  day ; 

And  we,  on  divers  shores  now  cast. 
Shall  meet,  our  perilous  voyage  past, 
All  in  our  Father's  house  at  last. 

And,  ere  thou  leave  him.  say  thou  this, 
Yet  one  word  more,  —  They  only  miss 
The  winning  of  that  final  bhss, 

Who  will  not  count  it  true,  that  love. 
Blessing,  not  cursing,  rules  above. 
And  that  in  it  we  live  and  move. 

And  one  thing  further  make  him  know. 
That  to  believe  these  things  are  so. 
This  firm  faith  never  to  forego. 

Despite  of  all  that  seems  at  strife 
With  blessing,  all  with  curses  rife. 
That  this  is  blessing,  this  is  life. 

x8s&  Richard  Chenevix  Trench, 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  347 


O  THOU,   THE   CONTRITE  SINNERS'  FRIEND. 

r~\  THOU,  the  contrite  sinners'  Friend, 
^^     Who,  loving,  lov'st  them  to  the  end, 
On  this  alone  my  hopes  depend. 
That  thou  wilt  plead  for  me  ! 

When,  weary  in  the  Christian  race, 
Far  off  appears  my  resting-place, 
And,  fainting,  I  mistrust  thy  grace. 
Then,  Saviour,  plead  for  me  ! 

When  I  have  erred  and  gone  astray. 
Afar  from  thine  and  wisdom's  way, 
And  see  no  glimmering  guiding  ray. 
Still,  Saviour,  plead  for  me  I 

When  Satan,  by  my  sins  made  bold, 
Strives  from  thy  cross  to  loose  my  hold, 
Then  with  thy  pitying  arms  infold, 
And  plead,  oh  plead  for  me  ! 

And  when  my  dying  hour  draws  near, 
Darkened  with  anguish,  guilt,  and  fear, 
Then  to  my  fainting  sight  appear, 
Pleading  in  heaven  for  me  ! 

When  the  full  light  of  heavenly  day 
Reveals  my  sins  in  dread  array, 
Say  thou  hast  washed  them  all  away ; 
Oh  say,  thou  plead' st  for  me ! 

1837.  Charlotte  Elliott. 


348  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


LET   US    DRAW   NEAR. 

"XT  T'HY  stand  I  lingering  without, 
^  ^       In  fear  and  weariness  and  doubt, 
When  all  is  light  within  ? 

0  thou,  the  new  and  living  Way, 

The  trembler's  Guide,  the  sinner's  Stay, 
My  High  Priest,  lead  me  in ! 

1  know  the  mercy-seat  is  there 

On  which  thou  sitt'st  to  answer  prayer ; 

I  know  the  blood  is  shed  ; 
The  everlasting  covenant  sealed, 
The  everlasting  grace  revealed. 

And  life  has  reached  the  dead ! 

Not  the  mere  Paradise  below  ; 

The  heaven  of  heavens  is  opened  now. 

And  we  its  bliss  regain. 
Guarded  so  long  by  fire  and  sword, 
The  gate  stands  wide,  the  way  restored. 

The  veil  is  rent  in  twain ! 

Without,  the  cloud  and  gloom  appear. 
The  peril  and  the  storm  are  near, 

The  foe  is  raging  round  ; 
Then  let  me  boldly  enter  in, 
There  end  my  danger,  fear,  and  sin. 

And  rest  on  holy  ground. 

1856.  HORATIUS    PiONAR. 


Ltil   0 0   r^j 

SONGS   OF  FAITH,  349 

JESUS,   LAMB   OF   GOD,    FOR   ME. 

TESUS,  Lamb  of  God,  for  me 
^      Thou,  the  Lord  of  life,  didst  die : 
Whither,  whither,  but  to  thee, 
Can  a  trembUng  sinner  fly  ? 
Death's  dark  waters  o'er  me  roll : 
Save,  oh  save  my  sinking  soul ! 

Never  bowed  a  martyred  head 

Weighed  with  equal  sorrow  down, 
Never  blood  so  rich  was  shed. 

Never  king  wore  such  a  crown  ! 
To  thy  cross  and  sacrifice 
Faith  now  lifts  her  tearful  eyes. 

All  my  soul,  by  love  subdued, 

Melts  in  deep  contrition  there  ; 
By  thy  mighty  grace  renewed. 

New-born  hope  forbids  despair : 
Lord,  thou  canst  my  guilt  forgive, 
Thou  hast  bid  me  look  and  live. 

While  with  broken  heart  I  kneel, 

Sinks  the  inward  storm  to  rest ; 
Life,  immortal  life,  I  feel. 

Kindled  in  my  throbbing  breast ! 
Thine  forever  !  thine  I  am  ! 
Glory  to  the  bleeding  Lamb ! 

1840.  Ray  Palmer, 


350  SOAGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 


MY  SAVIOUR,  WHAT  THOU   DIDST  OF  OLD. 

"\ /TY  Saviour,  what  thou  didst  of  old, 
-^^■^     When  thou  wast  dwelling  here, 
Thou  doest  yet  for  them  who,  bold 
In  faith,  to  thee  draw  near. 

Mourning  I  sat  beside  the  way, 

In  sightless  gloom  apart, 
And  sadness  heavy  on  me  lay. 

And  longing  gnawed  my  heart : 

I  heard  the  music  of  the  psalms 

Thy  people  sung  to  thee  ; 
I  felt  the  waving  of  their  palms  ; 

And  yet  I  could  not  see. 

My  pain  grew  more  than  I  could  bear, 

Too  keen  my  grief  became  ; 
Then  I  took  heart  in  my  despair 

To  call  upon  thy  name  : 

"  O  Son  of  David  !  save  and  heal, 

As  thou  so  oft  hast  done : 
O  heavenly  Saviour,  let  me  feel 

My  load  of  darkness  gone." 

And  ever  weeping,  as  I  spoke, 

With  bitter  prayers  and  sighs, 
My  stony  heart  grew  soft  and  broke, 

More  earnest  yet  my  cries. 


— — — - — 0— :!* 

SONGS  OF  FAITH.  35  ^ 

A  sudden  answer  stilled  my  fear  ; 

.  For  it  was  said  to  me, 
"  O  poor  blind  man  !  be  of  good  cheer  ; 
Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 

I  felt.  Lord,  that  thou  stoodest  still ; 

Groping,  thy  feet  I  sought ; 
From  off  me  fell  my  old  self-will, 

A  change  came  o'er  my  thought. 

Thou  saidst,  "  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  have  ?  " 

"  Lord,  that  I  might  have  sight  ; 
To  see  thy  countenance  I  crave." 

"  So  be  it :  have  thou  light." 

And  words  of  thine  can  never  fail, 

My  fears  are  past  and  o'er  ; 
My  soul  is  glad  with  Hght,  the  veil 

Is  on  my  heart  no  more. 

De  La  Motte  Fouque,  trans,  by  Miss  Winkworth. 


O  FAITH,  THOU  WORKEST  MIRACLES. 

/^  FAITH,  thou  workest  miracles 
^^     Upon  the  hearts  of  men  ; 
Choosing  thy  home  in  those  same  hearts, 
We  know  not  how  or  when. 

To  one  thy  grave,  unearthly  truths 

A  heavenly  vision  seem  ; 
While  to  another's  eye  they  are 

A  superstitious  dream. 


352  SOA^GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

To  one  the  deepest  doctrines  look 

So  naturally  true, 
That  when  he  learns  the  lesson  first, 

He  hardly  thinks  it  new. 

To  other  hearts  the  selfsame  truths 
No  light  or  heat  can  bring ; 

They  are  but  puzzling  phrases  strung 
Like  beads  upon  a  string. 

Oh,  gift  of  gifts  !  oh,  grace  of  faith  ! 

My  God  !  how  can  it  be 
That  thou,  who  hast  discerning  love, 

Shouldst  give  that  gift  to  me  ? 

There  was  a  place,  there  was  a  time. 

Whether  by  night  or  day, 
Thy  Spirit  came  and  left  that  gift. 

And  went  upon  his  way. 

How  many  hearts  thou  mightst  have  had 
More  innocent  than  mine  ! 

How  many  souls  more  worthy  far 
Of  that  sweet  touch  of  thine  ! 

Ah,  Grace  !  into  unlikeliest  hearts 

It  is  thy  boast  to  come : 
The  glory  of  thy  light  to  find 

In  darkest  spots  a  home. 

How  will  they  die,  how  will  they  die, 
How  bear  the  cross  of  grief. 

Who  have  not  got  the  light  of  faith, 
The  courage  of  belief  ? 


4H— 0 — — o—^y. 


SOJVGS   OF  FAITH.  353 

The  crowd  of  cares,  the  weightiest  cross. 

Seem  trifles  less  than  Hght, 
Earth  looks  so  little  and  so  low 

When  faith  shines  full  and  bright. 

Oh,  happy,  happy  that  I  am  ! 

If  .thou  canst  be,  O  Faith, 
The  treasure  that  thou  art  in  life, 

What  wilt  thou  be  in  death  ? 

Thy  choice,  O  God  of  goodness,  then 

I  lovingly  adore  ; 
Oh  give  me  grace  to  keep  thy  grace. 

And  grace  to  merit  more  ! 

1849.  F.  W.  Fabbr. 


FAR   OFF,   YET   NEAR. 

O  BLESSED  Lord, 
Once  more,  as  at  the  opening  of  the 
day, 
I  read  thy  Word  ; 
And  now,  in  all  I  read,  I  hear  thee  say, 
"  To  those  who  love  I  will  be  ever  near  ; " 

And  yet,  while  this  I  hear. 
To  me,  O  Lord,  thou  seemest  far  away  ! 

Thou  Sovereign  One, 
Greater  than  mightiest  kings,  can  it  be  fear, 

Or  blinding  sun 
Made  by  thy  glory,  so  if  thou  art  here 
23 


r 


-0 — by 


354  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  cannot  see  thee  ;  yet  this  Word  declares 

That  whoso  loves  and  bears 
Thy  holy  name,  shall  have  thee  ever  near  ! 

I  bear  thy  name  ! 
That  love,  dear  Lord,  have  I  not  long  confessed  ? 

Thy  love's  the  same 
As  when,  like  John,  I  leaned  upon  thy  breast, 
And  knew  I  loved  :  oh  !  which  of  us  has  changed  ? 
Am  I  from  thee  estranged  ? 

0  Lord,  thou  changest  not  !  I  know  the  rest. 

My  doubting  heart 
Trembles  with  its  own  weakness,  and  afraid 

I  dwell  apart 
From  thee,  on  whom  alone  my  hope  is  stayed  : 

1  would,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  thy  will 

And  perfect  love  ;  am  still 
Trusting  myself,  to  be  by  self  betrayed. 

O  blessed  Lord, 
Far  off,  yet  near,  on  me  new  grace  bestow, 

As  on  thy  Word 
I  go  to  meet  thee  ;  even  now  I  know. 
Thou  nearer  art  than  when  my  quest  began  ; 

One  cry,  and  thy  feet  ran 
To  meet  me  !     Lord,  I  will  not  let  thee  go  ! 

1864.  Anson  D.  F.  Randolph. 


#- 


m-^ ■ 0— IS 

SONGS   OF  FAITH.  355 

JUST   AS    I    AM. 

TUST  as  I  am,  without  one  plea 
^      But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  thou  bid'st  me  come  to  thee, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot. 
To  thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

Just  as  I  am,  though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt, 
Fightings  and  fears  within,  without, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  poor,  wretched,  blind, — 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind. 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  thee  to  find, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  thou  wilt  receive, 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve  ; 
Because  thy  promise  I  believe, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  —  thy  love  unknown 
Has  broken  every  barrier  down,  — 
Now,  to  be  thine,  yea,  thine  alone, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 


^^ 


356  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Just  as  I  am,  of  that  free  love 

The  breadth,  length,  depth,  and  height  to 

prove. 
Here  for  a  season,  then  above, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

1836.  Charlotte  Elliott. 


HOLY   SAVIOUR,    FRIEND   UNSEEN. 

T  TOLY  Saviour,  Friend  unseen, 
-■-  -^     Since  on  thine  arm  thou  bid'st  me  lean, 
Help  me  throughout  life's  varying  scene. 
By  faith  to  cHng  to  thee  ! 

Blest  with  this  fellowship  divine, 
Take  what  thou  wilt,  I'll  ne'er  repine  ; 
E'en  as  the  branches  to  the  vine, 
My  soul  would  cling  to  thee  ! 

Far  from  her  home,  fatigued,  opprest, 
Here  she  has  found  her  place  of  rest ; 
An  exile  still,  yet  not  unblest 
While  she  can  cling  to  thee  ! 

Without  a  murmur  I  dismiss 
My  former  dreams  of  earthly  bliss  ; 
My  joy,  my  consolation,  this. 
Each  hour  to  cling  to  thee  ! 

What  though  the  world  deceitful  prove, 
And  earthly  friends  and  joys  remove ; 
With  patient,  uncomplaining  love 
Still  would  I  cling  to  thee ! 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  357 

Oft  when  I  seem  to  tread  alone, 
Some  barren  waste  with  thorns  o'ergrown, 
Thy  voice  of  love,  in  tenderest  tone, 
Whispers,  "  Still  cling  to  me  !  " 

Though  faith  and  hope  awhile  be  tried, 
I  ask  not,  need  not,  aught  beside  : 
How  safe,  how  calm,  how  satisfied, 
The  souls  that  cling  to  thee ! 

They  fear  not  Satan  or  the  grave. 
They  feel  thee  near,  and  strong  to  save, 
Nor  fear  to  cross  e'en  Jordan's  wave. 
Because  they  cling  to  thee  ! 

1836.  Charlotte  Elliott. 


TRUST   IN   GOD. 

/^H  let  my  trembling  soul  be  still, 

^-^     While  darkness  veils  this  mortal  eye, 

And  wait  thy  wise,  thy  holy  will, 

Wrapt  yet  in  fears  and  mystery  ; 
I  cannot,  Lord,  thy  purpose  see, 
Yet  all  is  well  since  ruled  by  thee  ! 

When  mounted  on  thy  clouded  car, 
Thou  send'st  thy  darker  spirits  down, 

I  can  discern  thy  light  afar. 

Thy  light  sweet-beaming  through  thy  frown  ; 

And  should  I  faint  a  moment,  then 

I  think  of  thee,  and  smile  again. 


358  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

So,  trusting  in  thy  love,  I  tread 

The  narrow  path  of  duty  on  : 
What  though  some  cherished  joys  are  fled  ? 

What    though    some   flattering   dreams  are 
gone  ? 
Yet  purer,  brighter  joys  remain  : 
Why  should  my  spirit  then  complain  ? 

'824.  Sir  John  Bowring. 


BATTLE      HYMN. 

{From  the  German) 

"ppATHER,  to  thee  I  cry  ! 
■*-    The  roaring  cannon's  vapor  shrouds  me 
round, 
And  flashing  lightnings  hiss  along  the  ground  ; 
Lord  of  the  fight,  I  cry  to  thee  ! 
O  Father,  guide  thou  me  ! 

Father,  be  thou  my  guide  ! 
In  victory's  triumph,  or  in  death  laid  low, 
O  Lord,  unto  thy  mighty  will  I  bow. 
Even  as  thou,  so  let  it  be  ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  thee  ! 

Thy  holy  presence,  Lord, 
In  the  dread  thunder  of  the  clashing  steel. 
As  in  the  rustling  autumn  leaves,  I  feel : 
Fountain  of  mercies,  I  acknowledge  thee  ! 

O  Father,  bless  thou  me ! 


■o—\\\ 


p' 

SOA'GS   OF  FAITH. 

Thy  blessing  on  me  rest  ! 
Into  thy  hands,  0  Father,  I  resign 

359 

The  hfe  thou  gavest,  and  canst  take  ; 

but  mine 

In  Hfe  or  death  thy  blessing  be  ! 

Glory  and  praise  to  thee ! 

I79I. 

KORNER. 

-<> — H^ 


HYMN      OF     TRUST. 
{From  the  German^ 

"\T  7HEN  the  sky  is  black  andjowering, 

^  '       When  thy  path  in  life  is  drear. 
Upward  lift  thy  steadfast  glances, 
'Mid  the  maze  of  sorrow  here. 

From  the  beaming  fount  of  gladness 
Shall  descend  a  radiance  bright  ; 

And  the  grave  shall  be  a  garden, 
And  the  hours  of  darkness,  light. 

For  the  Lord  will  hear  and  answer 

When  in  faith  his  people  pray  ; 
Whatsoe'er  he  hath  appointed, 

Shall  but  work  thee  good  alway. 

E'en  thy  very  hairs  are  numbered, 
God  commands  when  one  shall  fall  ; 

And  the  Lord  is  with  his  people, 
Helping  each  and  blessing  all. 

1524.  Martin  Luther. 


«y — 0- 


m—0 o—w. 

360  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

SONG   OF   TRUST. 

T  KNOW  not  what  may  befall  me  ; 
"^     God  hangs  a  mist  o'er  my  eyes, 
And  before  each  step  of  my  onward  way 

He  makes  new  scenes  to  rise, 
And  every  joy  that  he  sends  me  comes 

As  a  sweet  and  glad  surprise. 

I  see  not  a  step  before, 

As  I  tread  the  days  of  the  year  ; 
But  the  past  is  still  in  God's  keeping, 

The  future  his  mercy  will  clear  ; 
And  what  seems  dark  in  the  distance, 

May  brighten  as  I  draw  near. 

For  perchance  the  dreaded  future 

Has  less  bitter  than  I  think  ; 
The  Lord  may  sweeten  the  waters 

Before  I  stoop  to  drink  ; 
Or,  if  Marah  must  be  Marah, 

He  will  stand  beside  the  brink. 

It  may  be  he  has  waiting. 

For  the  coming  of  my  feet. 
Some  gift  of  such  rare  blessedness, 

Some  joy  so  strangely  sweet, 
That  my  lips  can  only  tremble 

With  the  thanks  I  cannot  speak. 

Oh,  restful,  blissful  ignorance ! 
'Tis  blessed  not  to  know  ! 


sojvgs  of  faith.  361 

It  makes  me  quiet  in  those  arms 

That  will  not  let  me  go  ; 
And  hushes  my  soul  to  rest 

On  the  bosom  that  loves  me  so. 

So  I  go  on,  not  knowing  ; 

I  would  not  if  I  might  : 
I  would  rather  walk  with  God  in  the  dark 

Than  walk  alone  in  the  light  ; 
I  would  rather  walk  with  him  by  faith 

Than  walk  alone  by  sight. 

My  heart  shrinks  back  from  trials 

Which  the  future  may  disclose  ; 
Yet  I  never  had  a  sorrow 

But  what  my  dear  Lord  chose  ; 
So  I  send  the  coming  tears  back, 

With  the  whispered  words,  ''  He  knows." 


I  KNOW  NOT   IF  THE   DARK  OR  BRIGHT. 

I  KNOW  not  if  the  dark  or  bright 
Shall  be  my  lot  ; 
If  that  wherein  my  hopes  delight 
Be  best  or  not. 

It  may  be  mine  to  drag  for  years 

Toil's  heavy  chain  ; 
Or  day  and  night  my  meat  be  tears, 

On  bed  of  pain. 


362  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Dear  faces  may  surround  my  hearth 

With  smiles  and  glee  ; 
Or  I  may  dwell  alone,  and  mirth 

Be  strange  to  me. 

My  bark  is  wafted  to  the  strand 

By  breath  divine  ; 
And  on  the  helm  there  rests  a  hand 

Other  than  mine. 

One  who  has  known  in  storms  to  sail 

I  have  on  board  ; 
Above  the  raging  of  the  gale 

I  hear  rny  Lord. 

He  holds  me  when  the  billows  smite  ; 

I  shall  not  fall : 
If  sharp,  'tis  short  ;  if  long,  'tis  light  ; 

He  tempers  all. 

Safe  to  the  land,  safe  to  the  land  ! 

The  end  is  this  ; 
And  then  with  him  go  hand  in  hand, 

Far  into  bliss  ! 

1845.  Dean  Alfokd. 


LEAD,   KINDLY   LIGHT. 

T    EAD,  kindly  light,  amid  th'  encircling  gloom 

-'-^     Lead  thou  me  on  ! 

The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home  : 

Lead  thou  me  on  ! 
Keep  thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene,  —  one  step  enough  for  me. 


SOJVGS  OF  FAITH.  3^3 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  thou 

Shouldst  lead  me  on  ; 
I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path  ;  but  now 

Lead  thou  me  on  ! 
I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears, 
Pride  ruled  my  will.     Remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  thy  power  has  blessed  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on, 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone^ 
And  with  the  morn  those  angel-faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile. 

1833.  John  Henry  Newman. 


OH,   SWEETLY  BREATHE  THE  LYRES  ABOVE  ! 


/^^H,  sweetly  breathe  the  lyres  above, 

^^     When  angels  touch  the  quivering  string. 
And  wake  to  chant  Immanuel's  love, 
Such  strains  as  angel-lips  can  sing ! 

And  sweet  on  earth  the  choral  swell, 

From  mortal  tongues,  of  gladsome  lays  ; 

When  pardoned  souls  their  raptures  tell. 
And,  grateful,  hymn  Immanuel's  praise. 

Jesus,  thy  name  our  souls  adore; 

We  own  the  bond  that  makes  us  thine ; 
And  earthly  joys  that  charmed  before. 

For  thy  dear  sake  we  now  resign. 


■0-^i 


364  SOJVGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Our  hearts,  by  dying  love  subdued, 
Accept  thine  offered  grace  to-day, 

Beneath  the  cross  with  blood  bedewed, 
We  bow  and  give  ourselves  away. 

In  thee  we  trust,  on  thee  rely  ; 

Though  we  are  feeble,  thou  art  strong  ; 
Oh  keep  us  till  our  spirits  fly 

To  join  the  bright,  immortal  throng ! 

186a  Ray  Palmer. 


TRUST. 

^  I  ^HE  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast, 

-*-      Leaves  there  its  cares,  and  is  at  rest : 
The  bird  sits  singing  by  its  nest. 

And  tells  aloud 
His  trust  in  God,  and  so  is  blest 
'Neath  every  cloud. 

He  has  no  store,  he  sows  no  seed. 
Yet  sings  aloud,  and  doth  not  heed  : 
By  flowing  stream  or  grassy  mead, 

He  sings  to  shame 
Men  who  forget,  in  fear  of  need, 

A  Father's  name. 

The  heart  that  trusts,  for  ever  sings, 
And  feels  as  light  as  it  had  wings  ; 
A  well  of  peace  within  it  springs  : 

Come  good  or  ill, 
Whate'er  to-day,  to-morrow,  brings, 

It  is  his  will ! 

1842.  Isaac  Williams. 


— — d— +ft 

SOJVGS  OF  FAITH.  365 

ROCK   OF   AGES. 

"D  OCK  of  ages,  cleft  for  me, 

-■-^     Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ! 

Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 

From  thy  wounded  side  which  flowed. 

Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 

Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labors  of  my  hands 
Can  fulfil  thy  law's  demands  ; 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  tears  for  ever  flow. 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone : 
Thou  must  save,  and  thou  alone. 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring  ; 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling ; 
Naked,  come  to  thee  for  dress  ; 
Helpless,  look  to  thee  for  grace  : 
Foul,  I  to  the  fountain  fly  ; 
Wash  me,  Saviour,  or  I  die  ! 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath. 
When  mine  eyelids  close  in  death. 
When  I  soar  through  worlds  unknown. 
See  thee  on  thy  judgment-throne, 
Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ! 

1776-  Augustus  Toplady. 


0    lip 

366  SOJVGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

O   THOU  GREAT   POWER. 

r~\  THOU  Great  Power,  in  whcfm  I  move, 
^^      For  whom  I  live,  to  whom  I  die, 
Behold  me  through  thy  beams  of  love 
Whilst  on  this  couch  of  tears  I  lie  ; 
And  cleanse  my  sordid  soul  within, 
By  thy  Christ's  blood,  the  bath  of  sin. 

No  hallowed  oils,  no  grains,  I  need, 

No  rags  of  saints,  no  purging  fire  ; 
One  rosie  drop  from  David's  seed 

Was  worlds  of  seas  to  quench  thine  ire. 
Oh,  precious  ransom  !  which  once  paid, 
That  "  consummatum  est "  was  said,  — 

And  said  by  him  who  said  no  more. 

But  sealed  it  with  his  dying  breath : 
Thou  then  that  hast  dispunged  my  score. 

And  dying  wast  the  death  of  Death, 
Be  to  me  now,  on  thee  I  call, 
My  life,  my  strength,  my  joy,  my  all ! 

1600.  Sir  Henry  Watsom. 


.     THE   SHADOW   AND   THE   LIGHT. 

^'■And  I  sought  whence  is  evtl^  —  St.  Augustine. 

^  I  "HE  fourteen  centuries  fall  away 

-■-       Between  us  and  the  Afric  saint, 
And  at  his  side  we  urge  to-day 
The  immemorial  quest  and  old  complaint. 


m — 0- 


SONGS  OF  FAITH.  ^67 

No  outward  sign  to  us  is  given,  — 

From  sea  or  earth  comes  no  reply ; 

Hushed  as  the  warm  Numidian  heaven 

He  vainly  questioned,  bends  our  frozen  sky. 

No  victory  comes  of  all  our  strife,  — 

From  all  we  grasp  the  meaning  slips  ; 
The  Sphinx  sits  at  the  gate  of  life. 
With  the  old  question  on  her  awful  lips. 

In  paths  unknown  we  hear  the  feet 
Of  fear  before  and  guilt  behind  ; 
We  pluck  the  wayside  fruit,  and  eat 
Ashes  and  dust  beneath  its  golden  rind. 

From  age  to  age  descends  unchecked 

The  sad  bequest  of  sire  to  son. 
The  body's  taint,  the  mind's  defect,  — 
Through  every  web  of  life  the  dark  threads  run. 

Oh  !  why,  and  whither  ?  God  knows  all ; 

I  only  know  that  he  is  good, 
And  that  whatever  may  befall. 
Or  here  or  there,  must  be  the  best  that  could. 

Between  the  dreadful  cherubim 

A  Father's  face  I  still  discern, 
As  Moses  looked  of  old  on  him. 
And  saw  his  glory  into  goodness  turn. 

For  he  is  merciful  as  just ; 

And  so,  by  faith  correcting  sight, 
I  bow  before  his  will,  and  trust, 
Howe'er  they  seem,  he  doeth  all  things  right ; 


368  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

And  dare  to  hope  that  he  will  make 

The  ragged  smooth,  the  doubtful  plain ; 
His  mercy  never  quite  forsake  ; 
His  healing  visit  every  realm  of  pain  : 

That  suffering  is  not  his  revenge 

Upon  his  creatures  weak  and  frail, 
Sent  on  a  pathway  new  and  strange, 
With  feet  that  wander  and  with  eyes  that  fail 

That  o'er  the  crucible  of  pain 

Watches  the  tender  eye  of  Love, 
The  slow  transmuting  of  the  chain 
Whose  links  are  iron  below  to  gold  above  ! 

Ah  me  !  we  doubt  the  shining  skies 

Seen  through  our  shadows  of  offence. 
And  drown  with  our  poor  childish  cries 
The  cradle-hymn  of  kindly  Providence. 

And  still  we  love  the  evil  cause, 

And  of  the  Just  effect  complain  ; 
We  tread  upon  life's  broken  laws. 
And  murmur  at  our  self-inflicted  pain. 

We  turn  us  from  the  light,  and  find 

Our  spectral  shapes  before  us  thrown ; 
As  they  who  leave  the  sun  behind, 
Walk  in  the  shadows  of  themselves  alone. 

And,  scarce  by  will  or  strength  of  ours. 

We  set  our  faces  to  the  day ; 
Weak,  wavering,  blind,  the  eternal  powers 
Alone  can  turn  us  from  ourselves  away. 


^H— 0- 


SO.VGS  OF  FAITH.  369 

Our  weakness  is  the  strength  of  sin  ; 

But  love  must  needs  be  stronger  far, 
Intrenching  all,  and  gathering  in 
The  erring  spirit  and  the  wandering  star. 

A  voice  grows  with  the  growing  years  ; 

Earth,  hushing  down  her  bitter  cry, 
Looks  upward  from  her  graves,  and  hears, 
"  The  Resurrection  and  the  Life  am  L" 

O  Love  Divine,  whose  constant  beam 

Shines  on  the  eyes  that  will  not  see, 
And  waits  to  bless  us  while  we  dream 
Thou  leavest  us,  because  we  turn  from  thee ! 

All  souls  that  struggle  and  aspire. 

All  hearts  of  prayer  by  thee  are  lit ; 
And,  dim  or  clear,  thy  tongues  of  fire 
On  dusky  tribes  and  twilight  centuries  sit. 

Nor  bounds,  nor  clime,  nor  creed,  thou  know'st, 

Wide  as  our  need  thy  favors  fall ; 
And  white  wings  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
Stoop,  seen  or  unseen,  o'er  the  heads  of  all. 

O  Beaut^^,  old,  yet  ever  new ! 

Eternal  Voice  and  Inward  Word, 
The  Logos  of  the  Greek  and  Jew, 
The  old  sphere-music  which  the  Samian  heard  ! 

Truth  which  the  sage  and  prophet  saw, 

Long  sought  without,  but  found  within  ; 
The  Law  of  Love,  beyond  all  law, 
The  Life  o'erflooding  mortal  death  and  sin  ! 
24 


370  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Shine  on  us  with  the  light  which  glowed 
Upon  the  trance-bound  shepherds'  way, 
Who  saw  the  darkness  overflowed, 
And  drowned  by  tides  of  everlasting  day. 

Shine,  light  of  God  !  make  broad  thy  scope 

To  all  who  sin  and  suffer  ;  more 
And  better  than  we  dare  to  hope, 
With  Heaven's  compassion  make  our  longings  poor  ! 

i860.  J.  G.  Whittier. 


PRAYER   OF   FAITH. 

IV /TY  faith  looks  up  to  thee, 
•^^^     Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Saviour  divine ! 
Now  hear  me  while  I  pray : 
Take  all  my  guilt  away ; 
Oh  let  me  from  this  day 

Be  wholly  thine ! 

May  thy  rich  grace  impart 
Strength  to  my  fainting  heart, 

My  zeal  inspire ! 
As  thou  hast  died  for  me, 
Oh  may  my  love  to  thee 
Pure,  warm,  and  changeless  be, 

A  living  fire ! 

While  life's  dark  maze  I  tread, 
And  griefs  around  me  spread, 
Be  thou  my  Guide ! 


— - — — ^0—tm. 

SONGS  OF  FAITH.  3/1 

Bid  darkness  turn  to  day, 
Wipe  sorrow's  tears  away, 
Nor  let  me  ever  stray 
From  thee  aside. 

When  ends  life's  transient  dream, 
When  death's  cold,  sullen  stream. 

Shall  o'er  me  roll, 
Blest  Saviour,  then  in  love 
Fear  and  distrust  remove  ; 
Oh  bear  me  safe  above, 

A  ransomed  soul ! 

1840.  Ray  Palmer. 


■>-r-H3- 


SONGS    OF    HOPE, 


\yi fy^ -,..r-^.^ — ^ — — ♦— HH 


SONGS    OF    HOPE. 


)>«<c 


COME,   YE   DISCONSOLATE. 

/^^OME,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  ye  languish, 
^^     Come  !  at  God's  altar  fervently  kneel  ; 
Here   bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your 
anguish : 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal ! 

Joy  of  the  desolate.  Light  of  the  straying, 
Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  saying, 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure  !  " 

Go,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us. 
What  charm  for  aching  hearts  he  can  reveal : 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  us, 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal !  " 

1816.  Thomas  Moore. 


OH  DEEM  NOT  THEY  ARE  BLEST  ALONE. 

/^H  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone 
^-^     Whose  lives  a  peaceful  tenor  keep  ; 
For  God,  who  pities  man,  hath  shown 
A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 


-0 — H^ 


176  SOA'GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

The  light  of  smiles  shall  fill  again 
The  lids  that  overflow  with  tears  ; 

And  weary  hours  of  woe  and  pain 
Are  promises  of  happier  years. 

There  is  a  day  of  sunny  rest 

For  every  dark  and  troubled  night  ; 

And  grief  may  bide  an  evening  guest, 
But  joy  shall  come  with  early  light. 

And  thou,  who  o'er  thy  friend's  low  bier 
Sheddest  the  bitter  drops  like  rain, 

Hope  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere 
Will  give  him  to  thine  arms  again. 

Nor  let  the  good  man's  trust  depart, 
Though  life  its  common  gifts  deny,  — 

Though,  with  a  pierced  and  broken  heart, 
And  spurned  of  men,  he  goes  to  die. 

For  God  has  marked  each  sorrowing  day, 
And  numbered  every  secret  tear  : 

And  heaven's  long  age  of  bliss  shall  pay 
For  all  his  children  suffer  here. 

W.  C.  Bryant. 

AS    DOWN    IN    THE    SUNLESS    RETREATS    OF 
THE    OCEAN. 

A  S  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean, 
-^^^     Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see, 
So,  deep  in  my  soul,  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 
Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  thee, 
My  God  !  silent  to  thee  ! 
Pure,  warm,  silent  to  thee ! 


<f 


-0 — MJ 


0 — I* 

SONGS   OF  HOPE.  ^  Z77 

As  still  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea, 
So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded. 
The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  to  thee, 
My  God  !  trembling  to  thee  ! 
True,  fond,  trembling  to  thee ! 

1816.  Thomas  Moork. 


AROUND   BETHESDA'S   HEALING  WAVE. 


A  ROUND  Bethesda's  healing  wave, 
•^-^     Waiting  to  hear  the  rustling  wing 
Which  spoke  the  angel  nigh,  who  gave 

Its  virtue  to  that  holy  spring, 
With  patience  and  with  hope  endued, 
Were  seen  the  gathered  multitude. 

Among  them  there  was  one  whose  eye 
Had  often  seen  the  waters  stirred,  — 

Whose  heart  had  often  heaved  the  sigh, 
The  bitter  sigh  of  hope  deferred  ; 

Until  the  Saviour's  love  was  shown. 

Which  healed  him  by  a  word  alone  ! 

Bethesda's  pool  has  lost  its  power ! 

No  angel,  by  his  glad  descent, 
Dispenses  that  diviner  dower 

Which  with  its  healing  waters  went : 
But  he,  whose  word  surpassed  its  wave. 
Is  still  omnipotent  to  save. 


%- 

37S  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Saviour,  thy  love  is  still  the  same 

As  when  that  healing  word  was  spoke  ; 

Still  in  thine  all-redeeming  name 

Dwells  power  to  burst  the  strongest  yoke  ! 

Oh,  be  that  power,  that  love,  displayed  ; 

Help  those  whom  thou  alone  canst  aid  ! 

i8i2.  Bernard  Barton. 


WHEN   ISRAEL,   OF   THE   LORD   BELOVED. 

^T  7HEN  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 

^  ^      Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 
Her  father's  God  before  her  moved, 
An  awful  Guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 

By  day,  along  the  astonished  lands, 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow  : 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimsoned  sands 

Returned  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

Thus  present  still,  though  now  unseen. 
When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day, 

Be  thoughts  of  thee  a  cloudy  screen, 
To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 

And,  oh,  when  stoops  upon  our  path. 
In  shade  and  storm,  the  frequent  night, 

Be  thou  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 
A  burning  and  a  shining  light ! 

i8os.  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


-0 — \\\ 


— — 0-— Ifl: 

SOJVCS  OF  HOPE.  379 

GOD   MOVES   IN   A   MYSTERIOUS   WAY. 

f^^  OD  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
^^     His  wonders  to  perform  ; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  his  bright  designs, 

And  works  his  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take  : 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 

In  blessings  on  your  head. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 

But  trust  him  for  his  grace  : 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 

He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  his  work  in  vain ; 
God  is  his  own  interpreter. 

And  he  will  make  it  plain, 

William  Cowper. 


■< — wy 


^ 


«H — 0 »    Id 

380  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

HOW  SWEETLY  FLOWED  THE  GOSPEL'S  SOUND! 

T  TOW  sweetly  flowed  the  gospel's  sound 
-'-  -*-     From  lips  of  gentleness  and  grace, 
When  listening  thousands  gathered  round, 
And  joy  and  reverence  filled  the  place  ! 

From  heaven  he  came,  of  heaven  he  spoke, 
To  heaven  he  led  his  followers'  way  ; 

Dark  clouds  of  gloomy  night  he  broke, 
Unveiling  an  immortal  day. 

"  Come,  wanderers,  to  my  Father's  home  ; 

Come,  all  ye  weary  ones,  and  rest !  " 
Yes,  sacred  Teacher,  we  will  come, 

Obey  thee,  love  thee,  and  be  blest ! 

Decay,  then,  tenements  of  dust ! 

Pillars  of  earthly  pride,  decay  ! 
A  nobler  mansion  waits  the  just, 

And  Jesus  has  prepared  the  way. 

S841.  SiK  John  Bowring. 

THE   CALL   OF   THE   CHRISTIAN. 

NOT  always  as  the  whirlwind's  rush 
On  Horeb's  mount  of  fear, 
Not  always  as  the  burning  bush 

To  Midian's  shepherd-seer. 
Nor  as  the  awful  voice  which  came 

To  Israel's  prophet  bards, 
Nor  as  the  tongues  of  cloven  flame, 
Nor  gift  of  fearful  words,  — 


'    »  fl- 

SONGS  OF  HOPE.  S^l 

Not  always  thus,  with  outward  sign 

Of  fire  or  voice  from  heaven, 
The  message  of  a  truth  divine, 

The  call  of  God,  is  given, 
Awaking  in  the  human  heart 

Love  for  the  true  and  right, 
Zeal  for  the  Christian's  better  part, 

Strength  for  the  Christian's  fight. 

Nor  unto  manhood's  heart  alone 

The  holy  influence  steals  : 
Warm  with  a  rapture  not  its  own, 

The  heart  of  woman  feels  ! 
As  she  who  by  Samaria's  well 

The  Saviour's  errand  sought,  — 
As  those  who  with  the  fervent  Paul 

And  meek  Aquila  wrought ; 

Or  those  meek  ones  whose  martyrdom 

Rome's  gathered  grandeur  saw  ; 
Or  those  who  in  their  Alpine  home 

Braved  the  Crusader's  war. 
When  the  green  Vaudois,  trembling,  heard. 

Through  all  its  vales  of  death. 
The  martyr's  song  of  triumph  poured 

From  woman's  failing  breath. 

And  gently  by  a  thousand  things 

Which  o'er  our  spirits  pass 
Like  breezes  o'er  the  harps  fine  strings, 

Or  vapors  o'er  a  glass, 


■d — H\ 


-0 — H^ 


SS2  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Leaving  their  token  strange  and  new 

Of  music  or  of  shade, 
The  summons  to  the  right,  and  true, 

And  merciful  is  made. 

Oh,  then,  if  gleams  of  truth  and  light 

Flash  o'er  thy  waiting  mind, 
Unfolding  to  thy  mental  sight 

The  wants  of  humankind  ; 
If,  brooding  over  human  grief. 

The  earnest  wish  is  known 
To  soothe  and  gladden  with  relief. 

An  anguish  not  thine  own,  — 

Though  heralded  with  naught  of  fear, 

Or  outward  sign  or  show  ; 
Though  only  to  the  inward  ear 

It  whispers  soft  and  low  ; 
Though  dropping,  as  the  manna  fell. 

Unseen,  yet  from  above. 
Noiseless  as  dew-fall,  —  heed  it  well, 

Thy  Father's  call  of  love ! 

1846.  J.  G.  Whittier. 


JUDGE   NOT. 

TUDGE  not !  the  workings  of  his  brain 
^      And  of  his  heart  thou  canst  not  see ; 
What  looks  to  thy  dim  eyes  a  stain, 
In  God's  pure  light  may  only  be 
A  scar,  brought  from  some  well-won  field, 
Where  thou  wouldst  only  faint  and  yield. 


SONGS  OF  HOPE.  3^3 

The  look,  the  air,  that  frets  thy  sight, 

May  be  a  token  that  below 
The  soul  has  closed  in  deadly  fight 

With  some  infernal,  fiery  foe. 
Whose  glance  would  scorch  thy  smiling  grace. 
And  cast  thee  shuddering  on  thy  face  ! 

The  fall  thou  darest  to  despise. 

May  be  the  angel's  slackened  hand 

Has  suffered  it,  that  he  may  rise 
And  take  a  firmer,  surer  stand  ; 

Or,  trusting  less  to  earthly  things. 

May  henceforth  learn  to  use  his  wings. 

And  judge  none  lost ;  but  wait  and  see, 

With  hopeful  pity,  not  disdain  : 
The  depth  of  the  abyss  may  be 

The  measure  of  the  height  of  pain. 
And  love,  and  glory,  that  may  raise 
This  soul  to  God  in  after  days  ! 

185S.  Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


THE   GOOD    SHEPHERD. 

T  TE  saves  the  sheep,  the  goats  he  does  not  save  ! 

-■-  -^     So  rang  Tertullian's  sentence,  on  the  side 
Of  that  unpitying  Phrygian  sect  which  cried, 

"  Him  can  no  fount  of  fresh  forgiveness  lave 

Who  sins,  once  washed  by  the  baptismal  wave  ! " 
So  spake  the  fierce  Tertullian.     But  she  sighed, 
The  infant  Church  ;  of  love  she  felt  the  tide 

Stream  on  her  from  her  Lord's  yet  recent  grave. 


384  SOJVGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

And  then  she  smiled,  and  in  the  Catacombs, 
With  eye  suffused,  but  heart  inspirM,  true, 
On  those  walls  subterranean,  where  she  hid 
Her  head  in  ignominy,  death,  and  tombs. 
She  her  good  Shepherd's  hasty  image  drew ; 
And  on  his  shoulders,  not  a  lamb,  a  kid  ! 

1856.  Matthew  Arnolu 

LA   ROCHELLE. 

A     WORTHY  man  of  Paris  town 
-^~^     Came  to  the  bishop  there  : 
His  face,  o'erclouded  with  dismay, 
Betrayed  a  fixed  despair. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  a  sinner  vile, 

Am  I  against  my  will : 
Each  hour  I  humbly  pray  for  faith, 

But  am  a  doubter  still. 

"  Sure,  were  I  not  despised  of  God, 

He  would  not  leave  me  so, 
To  struggle  thus  in  constant  strife 

Against  the  deadly  foe." 

The  bishop  to  his  sorrowing  son 

Thus  spake  a  kind  relief  : 
"  The  King  of  France  has  castles  twain  ; 

To  each  he  sends  a  chief. 

"  There's  Montelhery,  far  inland, 

That  stands  in  place  secure ; 
While  La  Rochelle,  upon  the  coast, 

Doth  sieges  oft  endure. 


SONGS  OF  HOPE.  3^: 

"  Now  for  these  castles,  —  both  preserved,  — 

First  in  his  prince's  love 
Shall  Montelhery's  chief  be  placed, 

Or  La  Rochelle's  above  ?  " 

"  Oh,  doubtless,  sire,"  the  sinner  said, 

"  That  king  will  love  the  most 
The  man  whose  task  was  hard  to  keep 

His  castle  on  the  coast !  " 

"  Son,"  said  the  bishop,  "  thou  art  right  ; 

Apply  this  reasoning  well : 
My  heart  is  Montelhery  fort, 
And  thine  is  La  Rochelle  ! " 


H 


AARON. 

OLINESS  on  the  head  ; 

Light  and  perfections  on  the  breast ; 
Harmonious  bells  below,  raising  the  dead. 
To  lead  them  unto  life  and  rest : 
Thus  are  true  Aarons  drest. 

Profaneness  in  my  head  ; 
Defects  and  darkness  in  my  breast ; 
A  noise  of  passions  ringing  me  for  dead, 
Unto  a  place  where  is  no  rest : 
Poor  priest,  thus  am  I  drest ! 

Only  another  head 
I  have,  another  heart  and  breast. 
Another  music,  making  live,  not  dead  ; 
Without  whom  I  could  have  no  rest : 
In  him  I  am  well  drest. 
25 


%- 

386  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Christ  is  my  only  head  ; 
My  alone,  only  heart  and  breast ; 
My  only  music,  striking  me  even  dead, 
That  to  the  old  man  I  may  rest, 
And  be  in  Him  new  drest. 

So,  holy  in  my  head, 
Perfect  and  light  in  my  dear  breast, 
My  doctrine  tuned  by  Christ  who  is  not  dead. 
But  lives  in  me  while  I  do  rest,  — 
Come,  people  !  Aaron's  drest ! 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


WHERE   IS   THE   CITY? 

(l(5ot>  yu^y  fi  QaaiTieia  tov  Qeov  hrbg  vfiuv  hari.) 

/^  THOU,  not  made  with  hands, 
^^  Not  throned  above  the  skies, 
Nor  walled  with  shining  walls. 

Nor  framed  with  stones  of  price, 
More  bright  than  gold  or  gem, 
God's  own  Jerusalem  ! 

Where'er  the  gentle  heart 
Finds  courage  from  above  ; 

Where'er  the  heart  forsook 

Warms  with  the  breath  of  love  ; 

Where  faith  bids  fear  depart, 

City  of  God,  thou  art ! 


fl— * — — 0—4* 

SOXGS   OF  HOPE.  3 8/ 

Thou  art  where'er  the  proud 

In  humbleness  melts  down  ; 
Where  self  itself  yields  up  ; 

Where  martyrs  win  their  crown  ; 
Where  faithful  souls  possess 
Themselves  in  perfect  peace. 

Where  in  life's  common  ways 

With  cheerful  feet  we  go  ; 
When  in  His  steps  we  tread, 

Who  trod  the  way  of  woe  ; 
Where  He  is  in  the  heart, 
City  of  God,  thou  art  I 

Not  throned  above  the  skies, 

Nor  golden-walled,  afar. 
But  where  Christ's  two  or  three 

In  his  name  gathered  are : 
Be  in  the  midst  of  them, 
God's  own  Jerusalem  ! 

i86S.  Franos  Turner  Palgravk. 


OH  :    SOMETIMES    GLEAMS    UPON    OUR   SIGHT. 

/^H  I  sometimes  gleams  upon  our  sight, 
^^     Through  present  wrong,  the  eternal  right ; 
And,  step  by  step,  since  time  began. 
We  see  the  steady  gain  of  man  ;  — 


That  all  of  good  the  past  hath  had 
Remains  to  make  our  own  time  glad, 
Our  common  daily  life  divine, 
And  every  land  a  Palestine. 


^ 


388  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

We  lack  but  open  eye  and  car 
To  find  the  Orient's  marvels  here,  — 
The  still,  small  voice  in  autumn's  hush, 
Yon  maple  wood  the  burning  bush. 

Through  the  harsh  noises  of  our  day 
A  low,  sweet  prelude  finds  its  way ; 
Through  clouds  of  doubt  and  creeds  of  fear 
A  light  is  breaking,  calm  and  clear. 

Henceforth  my  heart  shall  sigh  no  more 
For  olden  time  and  hoher  shore  ; 
God's  love  and  blessing  then  and  there, 
Are  now  and  here  and  everywhere  ! 

John  G.  Whittier. 


I   SAW  THE   SYRIAN  SUNSET'S   METEOR-CROWN. 

T  SAW  the  Syrian  sunset's  meteor-crown 
-*-     Hang  over  Bethel  for  a  little  space  ; 
I  saw  a  gentle,  wandering  boy  lie  down, 
With  tears  upon  his  face. 

Sheer  up  the  fathomless,  transparent  blue, 
Rose  jasper  battlement  and  crystal  wall ; 
Rung  all  the  night-air,  pierced  through  and  through 
With  harps  angelical. 

And  a  great  ladder  was  set  up  the  while 

From  earth  to  heaven,  with  angels  on  each  round ; 
Barks  that  bore  precious  freight  to  earth's  far  isle, 
Or  sailed  back,  homeward  bound. 


^ 


AH— 0 0—±^. 

SOA-GS   OF  HOPE.  3  §9 

Ah !  many  a  time  we  look  on  star-lit  nights 

Up  to  the  sky,  as  Jacob  did  of  old 
Look  longing  up  to  the  eternal  lights, 
To  spell  their  lines  of  gold. 

But  nevermore,  as  to  the  Hebrew  boy, 

Each  on  his  way  the  angels  walk  abroad ; 
And  nevermore  we  hear,  with  awful  joy, 
The  audible  voice  of  God. 

Yet  to  pure  eyes  the  ladder  still  is  set. 

And  angel-visitants  still  come  and  go  ; 
Many  bright  messengers  are  moving  yet 
From  the  dark  world  below. 

Thoughts,   that  are  red-crossed  faith's  outspreading 

wings  ; 
Prayers  of  the  Church,  aye  keeping  time  and  tryst ; 
Heart-wishes,  making  bee-like  murmurings, 

Their  flower  the  Eucharist ; 

Spirits  elect,  through  suffering  rendered  meet 

For  those  high  mansions  ;  from  the  nursery-door. 
Bright  babes,  that  climb  up  with  their  clay-cold  feet 
Unto  the  golden  door  :  — 

These  are  the  messengers,  for  ever  wending 

From  earth  to  heaven,  that  faith  alone  may  scan  ; 
These  are  the  angels  of  our  God,  ascending 
Upon  the  Son  of  man. 

1857.  From  "Death  of  Jacob,"  by  William  Alexander. 


390  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL, 


VISION   FROM   THE   APOCALYPSE. 

T  SAW  again,  behold  !  heaven's  open  door  ; 
-^     Behold  !  a  throne,  —  the  seraphim  stood  o'er  it ; 
The  white-robed  elders  fell  upon  the  floor, 
And  flung  their  crowns  before  it. 

I  saw  a  wondrous  book,  —  an  angel  strong 

To  heaven  and  earth  proclaimed  his  loud  appeals  ; 
But  a  hush  passed  across  the  seraph's  song, 
For  none  might  loose  the  seals. 

Then,  fast  as  rain  to  death-cry  of  the  year. 

Tears  of  St.  John  to  that  sad  cry  were  given  : 
It  was  a  wondrous  thing  to  see  a  tear 
Fall  on  the  floor  of  heaven  ! 

And  a  sweet  voice  said,  "  Weep  not :  wherefore  fails, 

Eagle  of  God,  thy  heart,  the  high  and  leal } 
The  Lion  out  of  Judah's  tribe  prevails 
To  loose  the  sevenfold  seal." 

'Twas  Israel's  voice,  and  straightway  up  above 

Stood  in  the  midst  a  wondrous  Lamb,  snow-white. 
Heart-wounded  with  the  deep,  sweet  wound  of  love. 
Eternal,  infinite. 

Then  rose  the  song  no  ear  had  heard  before ; 

Then  from  the  white-robed  throng  no  anthem  woke  ; 
And,  fast  as  spring-tide  on  the  sealess  shore, 
The  alleluias  broke. 


_ 0—15^ 

SONGS  OF  HOPE.  39 1 

Who  dreams  of  God  when  passionate  youth  is  high, 

When  first  life's  weary  waste  his  feet  have  trod  ; 
Who  seeth  angels'  footfalls  in  the  sky, 
Working  the  works  of  God,  — 

His  sun  shall  fade  as  gently  as  it  rose ; 

Through  the  dark  woof  of  death's  approaching  night, 
His  faith  shall  shoot,  at  life's  prophetic  close. 
Some  threads  of  golden  light. 

For  him  the  silver  ladder  shall  be  set, 

His  Saviour  shall  receive  his  latest  breath  ; 
He  walketh  to  a  fadeless  coronet 

Up  through  the  gate  of  death. 

1857.  From  "Death  of  Jacob,"  by  William  Alexander. 


N 


THE   RIVER-PATH. 

JO  bird-song  floated  down  the  hill, 
The  tangled  bank  below  was  still ; 


No  rustle  from  the  birchen  stem, 
No  ripple  from  the  water's  hem. 

The  dusk  of  twilight  round  us  grew, 
We  felt  the  falling  of  the  dew ; 

For  from  us,  ere  the  day  was  done, 
The  wooded  hills  shut  out  the  sun. 

But,  on  the  river's  farther  side. 
We  saw  the  hill-tops  glorified ; 


{m.  0 o—m 

392  SO.VGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

A  tender  glow,  exceeding  fair, 
A  dream  of  day  without  its  glare. 

With  us,  the  damp,  the  chill,  the  gloom  ; 
With  them,  the  sunset's  rosy  bloom  ; 

While,  dark  through  willowy  vistas  seen, 
The  river  rolled  in  shade  between. 

From  out  the  darkness  where  we  trod, 
We  gazed  upon  the  hills  of  God, 

Whose  light  seemed  not  of  moon  or  sun  ; 
We  spake  not,  but  our  thought  was  one. 

We  paused,  as  if  from  that  bright  shore 
Beckoned  our  dear  ones  gone  before  ; 

And  stilled  our  beating  hearts  to  hear 
The  voices  lost  to  mortal  ear. 

Sudden  our  pathway  turned  from  night ; 
The  hills  swung  open  to  the  light  ; 

Through  their  green  gates  the  sunshine  showed  ; 
A  long,  slant  splendor  downward  flowed. 

Down  glade  and  glen  and  bank  it  rolled  ; 
It  bridged  the  shaded  stream  with  gold  ; 

And,  borne  on  piers  of  mist,  allied 
The  shadowy  with  the  sunlit  side. 

"  So,"  prayed  we,  '*  when  our  feet  draw  near 
The  river  dark,  with  mortal  fear, 

"  And  the  night  comcth,  chill  with  dew, 
O  Father,  let  thy  light  break  through  ! 


\.%\.    » — 0— 1« 

SOA^GS   OF  HOPE.  393 

"  So  let  the  hills  of  doubt  divide  ; 

So  bridge,  with  faith,  the  sunless  tide ! 

"  So  let  the  eyes  that  fail  on  earth, 
On  thine  eternal  hills  look  forth  ; 

"  And,  in  thy  beckoning  angels,  know 
The  dear  ones  whom  we  loved  below  !  " 

John  G.  Whittier. 

WHATEVER   CRAZY    SORROW    SAITH. 

"XT  7HATEVER  crazy  sorrow  saith, 

^  ^     No  life  that  breathes  with  human  breath, 
Has  ever  truly  longed  for  death. 

'Tis  life  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant  ; 
Oh,  life,  not  death,  for  which  we  pant ! 
More  life,  and  fuller,  that  I  want  ! 

And  I  arose,  and  I  released 

The  casement,  and  the  light  increased 

With  freshness  in  the  dawning  east. 

On  to  God's  house  the  people  prest : 
Passing  the  place  where  each  must  rest, 
Each  entered  like  a  welcome  guest. 

A  second  voice  was  at  mine  ear ; 

A  little  whisper,  silver-clear  ; 

A  murmur,  "  Be  of  better  cheer." 

As  from  some  blissful  neighborhood, 

A  notice  faintly  understood, 

''  I  see  the  end  and  know  the  good  ; " 


4rt^-^- 


394  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

A  little  hint  to  solace  woe, 

A  hint,  a  whisper  breathing  low, 

"  I  may  not  speak  of  what  I  know  ; " 

Like  an  ^olian  harp  that  wakes 

No  certain  air,  but  overtakes 

Far  thought  with  music  that  it  makes,  — 

Such  seemed  the  whisper  at  my  side  : 

"  What  is  it  thou  knowest,  sweet  voice,"  I  cried. 

"  A  hidden  hope,"  the  voice  replied, 

So  heavenly  toned,  that  in  that  hour 
From  out  my  sullen  heart  a  power 
Broke,  like  the  rainbow  from  the  shower. 

To  feel,  although  no  tongue  can  prove. 
That  every  cloud,  that  spreads  above, 
And  veileth  love,  itself  is  love. 

And  forth  into  the  fields  I  went. 
And  nature's  living  motion  lent 
The  pulse  of  hope  to  discontent. 

I  wondered  at  the  bounteous  hours, 
The  slow  result  of  winter  showers  : 
You  scarce  could  see  the  grass  for  flowers. 

I  wondered,  while  I  passed  along : 
The  words  were  filled  so  full  of  song. 
There  seemed  no  room  for  sense  of  wrong. 

So  variously  seemed  all  things  wrought, 
I  marvelled  how  the  mind  was  brought 
To  anchor  by  one  gloomy  thought ; 


— . 0—4* 

SONGS  OF  HOPE.  395 

And  wherefore  rather  made  I  choice 
To  commune  with  that  barren  voice 
Than  him  that  said,  *'  Rejoice  !  rejoice  !  " 

1832.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


THERE   IS   NO   DEATH. 

"  I  ^HERE  is  no  death  !     The  stars  go  down, 

-*-       To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore  ; 
And  bright  in  heaven's  jewelled  crown. 
They  shine  for  evermore. 

There  is  no  death  !     The  dust  we  tread 

Shall  change  beneath  the  summer  showers, 
To  golden  grain,  or  mellow  fruit, 
Or  rainbow-tinted  flowers. 

The  granite  rocks  disorganize, 

To  feed  the  hungry  moss  they  bear  ; 
The  forest  leaves  drink  daily  life 
From  out  the  viewless  air. 

There  is  no  death  !     The  leaves  may  fall, 

The  flowers  may  fade  and  pass  away ; 
They  only  wait,  through  wintry  hours. 
The  coming  of  the  May. 

There  is  no  death  !     An  angel  form 

Walks  o'er  the  earth  with  silent  tread  ; 
He  bears  our  best-loved  things  away, 
And  then  we  call  them  dead. 


39^  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

He  leaves  our  hearts  all  desolate  : 

He  plucks  our  fairest,  sweetest  flowers  ; 
Transplanted  into  bliss,  they  now 
Adorn  immortal  bowers. 

The  bird-like  voice,  whose  joyous  tones 

Make  glad  this  scene  of  sin  and  strife, 
Sings  now  in  everlasting  songs, 
Amid  the  trees  of  life  ! 

Born  into  that  undying  life. 

They  leave  us  but  to  come  again  ; 
With  joy  we  welcome  them,  the  same, 
Except  in  sin  and  pain. 

Ah  !  ever  near  us,  though  unseen, 
The  dear  immortal  spirits  tread  ; 
For  all  the  boundless  universe 
Is  life  !     There  is  no  dead  ! 

Sir  E.  Bulwer-Lytton. 


GOD'S   ACRE. 

T  LIKE  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase  which  calls 
-*-  The  burial-ground  God's  Acre  !  It  is  just ; 
It  consecrates  each  grave  within  its  walls, 

And  breathes  a  benison  o'er  the  sleeping  dust. 

God's  Acre !     Yes,  that  blessed  name  imparts 
Comfort  to  those  who  in  the  grave  have  sown 

The  seed  that  they  have  garnered  in  their  hearts, 
Their  bread  of  life,  alas  I  no  more  their  own. 


* 


*H— 0- 


SO.VGS   OF  HOPE.  397 

Into  its  furrows  shall  we  all  be  cast, 

In  the  sure  faith  that  we  shall  rise  again 

At  the  great  harvest,  when  the  archangel's  blast 
Shall  winnow,  like  a  fan,  the  chaff  and  grain. 

Then  shall  the  good  stand  in  immortal  bloom, 
In  the  fair  gardens  of  that  second  birth  ; 

And  each  bright  blossom  mingle  its  perfume 

With    that  of   flowers  which  never  bloomed  on 
earth. 

With  thy  rude  ploughshare,  Death,  turn  up  the  sod 
And  spread  the  furrow  for  the  seed  we  sow  : 

This  is  the  field  and  Acre  of  our  God  ; 

This  is  the  place  where  human  harvests  grow  ! 

1840.  H.  W.  Longfellow. 


THE   DEAD    ARE    LIKE    THE    STARS    BY   DAY. 

^  I  ^HE  dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day, 

^       Withdrawn  from  mortal  eye, 
Yet  holding  unperceived  their  way 
Through  the  unclouded  sky. 

By  them,  through  holy  hope  and  love, 

We  feel,  in  hours  serene, 
Connected  with  a  world  above, 

Immortal  and  unseen. 

For  Death  his  sacred  seal  hath  set 
On  bright  and  by-gone  hours  ; 

And  they  we  mourn  are  with  us  yet,  — 
Are  more  than  ever  ours  ;  — 


398  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Ours  by  the  pledge  of  love  and  faith  ; 

By  hopes  of  heaven  on  high  ; 
By  trust  triumphant  over  death, 

In  immoriality. 

1812.  Bernard  Barton. 


THIS    PLACE   IS    HOLY   GROUND. 

'T^HIS  place  is  holy  ground  : 
-■-       World,  with  thy  cares  away  ! 
Silence  and  darkness  reign  around  ; 

But  lo  !  the  break  of  day  : 
What  bright  and  sudden  dawn  appears, 
To  shine  upon  this  scene  of  tears  ! 

Eternity  and  time 

Met  for  a  moment  here  ; 
From  earth  to  heaven,  a  scale  sublime 

Rested  on  either  sphere, 
Whose  steps  a  saintly  figure  trod, 
By  Death's  cold  hand  led  home  to  God. 

Behold  the  bed  of  death. 

This  pale  and  lovely  clay  ! 
Heard  ye  the  sob  of  parting  breath  ? 

Marked  ye  the  eyes'  last  ray  ? 
No  !  life  so  sweetly  ceased  to  be  : 
It  lapsed  in  immortality. 

Bury  the  dead  —  and  weep. 
In  stillness,  o'er  the  loss  ; 


i;ip;i.  0 0— f* 

SO.VGS   OF  HOPE.  399 

Bury  the  dead  —  in  Christ  they  sleep, 

Who  bore  on  earth  his  cross  ; 
And,  from  the  grave,  their  dust  shall  rise 
In  his  own  image  to  the  skies. 

1853.  James  Montgomery. 


THERE    IS   A   LAND   WHERE   BEAUTY  WILL 
NOT   FADE. 

{Fro7n  the  Gerjnan.) 

'T^HERE  is  a  land  where  beauty  will  not  fade, 
-^       Nor  sorrow  dim  the  eye  ; 
Where  true  hearts  will  not  sink  nor  be  dismayed, 

And  love  will  never  die. 

Tell  me,  I  fain  would  go, 
For  I  am  burdened  with  a  heavy  woe  ; 
The  beautiful  have  left  me  all  alone  ; 
The  true,  the  tender,  from  my  path  have  gone. 
And  I  am  weak  and  fainting  with  despair  ; 

Where  is  it,  tell  me  where  ? 

Friend,  thou  must  trust  in  Him  who  trod  before 

The  desolate  path  of  life  ; 
Must  bear  in  meekness,  as  he  meekly  bore, 

Sorrow,  and  toil,  and  strife. 

Think  how  the  Son  of  God 

These  thorny  paths  has  trod, 
Yet  tarried  out  for  thee  the  appointed  woe ; 
Think  of  his  loneliness  in  places  dim. 
When  no  man  comforted  or  cared  for  him  ; 


400  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Think  how  he  prayed,  unaided,  and  alone, 
In  that  dread  agony,  "  Thy  will  be  done ! " 

Friend,  do  not  thou  despair, 
Christ,  in  his  heaven  of  heavens,  will  hear  thy 
prayer  ! 

1804.  Uhland. 


BEYOND    THESE    CHILLING    WINDS    AND 
GLOOMY   SKIES. 

T3EY0ND  these  chilling  winds  and  gloomy  skies, 
-"-^     Beyond  death's  solemn  portal. 
There  is  a  land  where  beauty  never  dies, 
And  love  becomes  immortal ;  — 

A  land  whose  light  is  never  dimmed  by  shade, 

Whose  fields  are  ever  vernal. 
Where  nothing  beautiful  can  ever  fade, 

But  blooms  for  aye,  eternal. 

We  may  not  know  how  sweet  the  balmy  air. 

How  bright  and  fair  its  flowers  ; 
We  may  not  hear  the  songs  that  echo  there, 

Through  these  enchanted  bowers. 

That  city's  shining  towers  we  may  not  see 

With  our  dim  earthly  vision, 
For  Death,  the  silent  warden,  keeps  the  key 

That  opes  those  gates  elysian. 

But  sometimes,  when  adown  the  western  sky 

The  fiery  sunset  lingers. 
Its  golden  gates  swing  inward  noiselessly, 

Unlocked  by  silent  fingers. 


^H— ^ 


SONGS   OF  HOPE.  401 

And,  while  they  stand  a  moment  half  ajar, 

Gleams  from  the  inner  glory 
Stream  brightly  through  the  azure  vault  afar, 

And  half  reveal  the  story. 

Oh,  Land  unknown  !   oh,  Land  of  Love  divine  ! 

Father  all-wise,  eternal. 
Guide,  guide  these  wandering  feet  of  mine 

Into  those  pastures  vernal ! 

N.  A.  W.  Priest. 


THE   CITY   OF   REST. 

/^  BIRDS  from  out  the  east,  O  birds  from  out  the 

^-^         west, 

Have  you  found  that  happy  city,  in  all  your  weary 
quest  ? 

Tell  me,  tell  me :  from  earth's  wanderings  may  the 
heart  find  glad  surcease  ? 

Can  you  show  me  as  an  earnest  any  olive-branch  of 
peace  ? 

I  am  weary  of  life's  troubles,  of  its  sin,  and  toil,  and 
care  ; 

I  am  faithless,  crushing  in  my  heart  so  many  a  fruit- 
less prayer  : 

O  birds  from  out  the  east,  O  birds  from  out  the  west. 

Can  ye  tell  me  of  that  city,  "  the  name  of  which  is 
Rest "  ? 

Say,  doth    a    dreamy  atmosphere    that    blessed  city 

crown  ? 

Are    there    couches    spread  for  sleeping  softer  than 

eider-down  ? 

26 


-0— HJi 


402  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Does  the  silver  sound  of  waters  falling  'twixt  its  mar- 
ble walls, 

Hush  its  solemn  silence,  even  into  stiller  interv^als  ? 

Does  the  poppy  shed  its  influence  there,  or  doth  the 
fabled  Moly, 

With  its  peaceful,  leaden  Lethe,  bathe  the  eyes  with 
slumbers  holy  ? 

Do  they  never  wake  to  sorrow,  who,  after  toilsome 
quest, 

Have  entered  in  that  city  "  the  name  of  which  is 
Rest "  ? 

Doth  the  fancy  rule  not  there  for  aye  ?    Is  the  restless 

soul's  endeavor 
Hushed  in  a  hymn  of  solemn  calm,  for  ever  and  for 

ever  ? 
Are   human   natures    satisfied   of   their   intense   de- 
sire ? 
Is  there  no  more  good  beyond  to  seek,  or  do  they  not 

aspire  ? 
But  weary,  weary  of  the  oar,  within  its  yellow  sun, 
Do  they  lie  and  eat  the  lotus-leaves,  and  dream  life's 

toil  is  done  ? 
Oh  tell  me,  do  they  there  forget  what  here  hath  made 

them  blest, 
Nor   sigh   again  for  home  and  friends,  in  the  city 

called  "  Rest  "  ? 


O  little  birds,  fly  east  again  !  O  little  birds,  fly  west ! 
Ye  have  found  no  happy  city  in  all  your  wandering 
quest  ; 


m,  0 ■ 0—1^ 

sojvgs  of  hope.  403 

Still  shall  ye  find  no  spot  of  rest  wherever  ye  may 

stray, 
And  still,  like  ye,  the  weary  soul  must  wing  its  weary 

way ! 
There  sleepeth  no  such  city  within  the  wide  earth's 

bound, 
Nor  hath  the  dreaming  fancy  yet  its  blissful  portals 

found. 
We   are  but  children,  crying  here,  upon  a  mother's 

breast, 
For  life,  and  peace,  and  blessedness,  and  for  eternal 

rest  ! 


Bless    God  !    I   hear  a  still  small  voice  above  life's 

clamorous  din, 
Saying,   "  Faint  not,  O  weary  one,  thou  yet  may'st 

enter  in ! 
That  city  is  prepared  for  those  who  well  do  win  the 

fight. 
Who  tread  the  wine-press  till  its  blood  hath  washed 

them  pure  and  white. 
Within  it  is  no  darkness,  nor  any  baleful  flower 
Shall  there  oppress  thy  waking  eyes  with  stupefying 

power  ; 
It  lieth  calm,  within  the  light  of  God's  peace-giving 

breast. 
Its  walls  are  called  Salvation,  —  that  city's  name  is 

'  Rest  ! '  " 

From  "  Household  Words." 


mx- 


404  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


THE   WAY   TO   THE   CITY. 

'T^HE  city  of  the  Lord  I  see, 

-*■       Beyond  the  firmament  afar  : 
Its  every  dome  a  noonday  sun, 
And  every  pinnacle  a  star  ! 

How  shall  I  scale  those  shining  heights, 
And  in  his  beauty  see  the  King, 

And  hear  the  anthems  of  the  skies,  — 
Those  songs  celestial  voices  sing  ? 

Lead  me,  thou  spotless  Lamb  of  God, 
And  place  me  near  thy  wounded  side  ; 

With  thee  in  glory  let  me  live 

Immortal,  since  thou  once  hast  died. 

Thou  art  my  Saviour !  there  is  none 

But  thee  on  whom  I  dare  rely : 
For  thee,  O  Christ,  'tis  mine  to  live, 

In  thee  my  joy  shall  be  to  die. 

Then,  while  this  crumbling  body  sleeps 

In  hope  beneath  its  native  sod, 
My  soul,  redeemed,  will  rise  to  see 

The  shining  city  of  my  God  ! 

1872.  S.  Iren^us  Prime. 


T 


0— w 

SOA'GS  OF  HOPE.  405 

THOU   SHALT   RISE! 

{Auferstehn,  ja  anferstehn  wirst  dtt.) 

HOU  shalt  rise  !  my  dust,  thou  shalt  arise  ! 
Not  always  closed  thine  eyes  : 

Thy  life's  first  Giver 
Will  give  thee  life  for  ever, 
Hallelujah ! 

Sown  in  darkness  but  to  bloom  again, 
When  after  winter's  reign, 
Jesus  is  reaping 
The  seed  now  quietly  sleeping, 
Hallelujah ! 

Day  of  praise !  for  thee,  thou  wondrous  day. 
In  my  quiet  grave  I  stay  ; 
And  when  I  number 
My  days  and  nights  of  slumber, 
Thou  wakest  me  ! 

Then,  as  they  who  dream,  we  shall  arise 
With  Jesus  to  the  skies, 
And  find  that  morrow, 
The  weary  pilgrims'  sorrow, 
All  past  and  gone  ! 

Then  shall  I  the  holy  of  holies  tread, 
By  my  Redeemer  led. 

Through  heaven  soaring, 
His  holy  name  adoring 
Eternally ! 

1803.  Klopst  ock. 


0—1* 

4o6  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

TWO   THOUSAND   YEARS    AGO    A   FLOWER. 

'^  I  "WO  thousand  years  ago,  a  flower 

-■-       Bloomed  brightly  in  a  far-off  land  ; 
Two  thousand  years  ago,  its  seed 

Was  placed  within  a  dead  man's  hand. 

Before  the  Saviour  came  to  earth, 

That  man  had  lived,  and  toiled,  and  died  ; 

But  even  in  that  far-off  time 

That  flower  had  shed  its  perfume  wide. 

Suns  rose  and  set,  years  came  and  went  ; 

That  dead  hand  kept  its  treasure  well : 
Nations  were  born,  and  turned  to  dust. 

While  life  was  hidden  in  that  shell. 

The  senseless  hand  is  robbed  at  last ; 

The  seed  is  buried  in  the  earth  ; 
When  lo  !  the  life  long  sleeping  there, 

Into  a  lovely  flower  burst  forth. 

Just  such  a  plant  as  that  which  grew. 
From  such  a  seed  when  buried  low ; 

Just  such  a  flower  in  Egypt  bloomed. 
And  died  —  two  thousand  years  ago. 

And  will  not  He  who  watched  the  seed. 

And  kept  the  life  within  the  shell. 
When  those  he  loves  are  laid  to  rest, 

Watch  o'er  his  buried  saints  as  well .'' 


^ 


-0- 


*t— ^ 0— w 

SONGS   OF  HOPE.  407 

And  will  not  he,  from  'neath  the  sod, 
Cause  something  glorious  to  arise  ? 

Ay,  though  it  sleeps  two  thousand  years, 
Yet  all  this  slumbering  dust  shall  rise  ! 

Just  such  a  face  as  greets  you  now, 
Just  such  a  form  as  now  you  wear, 

But,  oh,  more  glorious  far  shall  rise. 
To  meet  the  Saviour  in  the  air  ! 

Then  will  I  lay  me  down  in  peace, 

When  called  to  leave  this  vale  of  tears  ; 

For  "  in  my  flesh  I  shall  see  God," 

E'en  though  I  sleep  a  thousand  years  ! 

1867.  Sarah  H.  Bradford. 


<H — »- 


<H — ^ 


SONGS    OF    COURAGE. 


iH ^ 


-*—+{» 


SONGS    OF    COURAGE. 

THREE  WORDS   OF   STRENGTH. 

{From  Ike  German.^ 

nr^HERE  are  three  lessons  I  would  write, 
-*-       Three  words  as  with  a  burning  pen, 
In  tracings  of  eternal  light. 
Upon  the  hearts  of  men. 

Have  hope  !     Though  clouds  environ  round, 

And  gladness  hides  her  face  in  scorn, 
Put  thou  the  shadow  from  thy  brow  : 
No  night  but  hath  its  morn  ! 

Have  faith  !     Where'er  thy  bark  is  driven,  — 
The  calm's  disport,  the  tempest's  mirth,  — 
Know  this  :  God  rules  the  hosts  of  heaven, 
The  inhabitants  of  earth. 

Have  love  !     Not  love  alone  for  one. 
But  man,  as  man,  thy  brother  call, 
And  scatter,  like  the  circling  sun, 
Thy  charities  on  all. 

Thus  grave  these  lessons  on  thy  soul,  — 

Hope,  faith,  and  love  ;  and  thou  shalt  find 
Strength  when  life's  surges  rudest  roll. 
Light  when  thou  else  wert  blind  ! 

1800  Schiller, 


^ 

412  sOjVGs  of  the  soul. 


I    HAD    DRUNK   WITH    LIPS    UNSATED. 

T  HAD  drunk  with  lips  unsated 

-^     Where  the  founts  of  pleasure  burst  ; 

I  had  hewn  out  broken  cisterns, 

And  they  mocked  my  spirit's  thirst. 

And  I  said,  "  Life  is  a  desert, 

Hot,  and  measureless,  and  dry ; 
And  God  will  not  give  me  water, 

Though  I  pray,  and  faint,  and  die ! " 

Spoke  there  then  a  friend  and  brother  : 

"  Rise,  and  roll  the  stone  away  ; 
There  are  founts  of  life  upspringing 

In  thy  pathway  every  day." 

Then  I  said,  —  my  heart  was  sinful. 

Very  sinful  was  my  speech,  — 
"  All  the  wells  of  God's  salvation 

Are  too  deep  for  me  to  reach." 

And  he  answered,  ''  Rise  and  labor  ; 

Doubt  and  idleness  is  death. 
Shape  thee  out  a  goodly  vessel 

With  the  strong  hands  of  thy  faith." 

So  I  wrought,  and  shaped  the  vessel, 

Then  knelt  lowly,  humbly  there. 
And  I  drew  up  living  water 

With  the  golden  chain  of  prayer. 

Phcebe  Gary. 


SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  413 


HIGH   THOUGHTS   AT   FIRST   AND   VISIONS 
HIGH. 

TTIGH  thoughts  at  first  and  visions  high 
-*-  -*-     Are  ours  of  easy  victory  ; 
The  word  we  bear  seems  so  divine, 
So  framed  for  Adam's  guilty  Une, 

That  none,  unto  ourselves  we  say, 
Of  all  his  sinning,  suffering  race. 
Will  hear  that  word  so  full  of  grace, 
And  coldly  turn  away. 

But  soon  a  sadder  mood  comes  round  ; 
High  hopes  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
And  the  ambassadors  of  peace 
Go  weeping  that  men  will  not  cease 

To  strive  with  Heaven  ;  they  inly  mourn 
That  suffering  men  will  not  be  blest. 
That  weary  men  refuse  to  rest. 
And  wanderers  to  return. 

Well  is  it,  if  has  not  ensued 

Another  yet  unworthier  mood. 

When  all  unfaithful  thoughts  have  way  ; 

When  we  hang  down  our  hands  and  say, 

"  Alas  !  it  is  a  weary  pain 
To  seek,  with  toil  and  fruitless  strife. 
To  chafe  the  numbed  limbs  into  life. 
That  will  not  live  again." 

Then,  if  spring  odors  on  the  wind 
Float  by,  they  bring  into  our  mind 


*+— 0 ■ 0 — [* 

414  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

That  it  were  wiser  done  to  give 
Our  hearts  to  Nature,  and  to  live 

For  her,  or  in  the  student's  bower 
To  search  into  her  hidden  things, 
And  seek  in  books  the  wondrous  springs 
Of  knowledge  and  of  power. 

Or  if  we  dare  not  thus  draw  back, 
Yet,  oh,  to  shun  the  crowded  track, 
And  the  rude  throng  of  men  !  to  dwell 
In  hermitage  or  lonely  cell. 

Feeding  all  longings  that  aspire 
Like  incense  heavenward,  and  with  care. 
And  lonely  vigil,  nursing  there 
Faith's  solitary  pyre. 

Oh,  let  not  us  this  thought  allow  ! 
The  heat,  the  dust,  upon  our  brow, 
Signs  of  the  contest,  we  may  wear ; 
Yet  thus  we  shall  appear  more  fair 

In  our  Almighty  Master's  eye, 
Than  if,  in  fear  to  lose  the  bloom. 
Or  ruffle  the  soul's  lightest  plume, 
We  from  the  strife  should  fly. 

And,  for  the  rest,  in  weariness. 

In  disappointment,  or  distress. 

When  strength  decays,  or  hope  grows  dim. 

We  ever  may  recur  to  Him 

Who  has  the  golden  oil  divine 
Wherewith  to  feed  our  failing  urns,  — 
Who  watches  every  lamp  that  biirits 
Before  his  sacred  sJirine. 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


\\\ — 0- 


SH— 0 ^—\^. 

SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  415 

SONG  OF   COURAGE. 

(Si  Koi  ra  napovra.) 


A 


RE  thy  toils  and  woes  increasing  ? 
Are  the  foe's  attacks  unceasing  ? 
Look  with  faith  unclouded, 
Gaze  with  eyes  unshrouded, 
On  the  cross  ! 

Dost  thou  fear  that  strictest  trial  ? 
Tremblest  thou  at  Christ's  denial  ? 

Never  rest  without  it, 

Clasp  thine  hands  about  it, 
That  dear  cross  ! 

Diabolic  legions  press  thee  ? 

Thoughts  and  works  of  sin  distress  thee  ? 

It  shall  chase  all  terror, 

It  shall  right  all  error,  — 
That  sweet  cross  ! 

Draw'st  thou  nigh  to  Jordan's  river? 
Should'st  thou  tremble  ?  Need'st  thou  quiver  ? 

No  !  if  by  it  lying  ! 

No  !  if  on  it  dying, 
On  the  cross  ! 

Say  then,  "  Master,  while  I  cherish 
That  sweet  hope  I  cannot  perish  ! 

After  this  life's  story. 

Give  thou  me  the  glory, 
For  the  cross  !  " 

846.  St.  Methodius  I.,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealh. 


416  SOuVGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

THOSE   ETERNAL    BOWERS. 

(Tfif  £'5paf  raq  uluvta^.) 

nr*HOSE  eternal  bowers 
-*-      Man  hath  never  trod, 
Those  unfading  flowers 

Round  the  throne  of  God,  — ■ 
Who  may  hope  to  gain  them, 

After  weary  fight  ? 
Who  at  length  attain  them, 

Clad  in  robes  of  white  ? 

He  who  gladly  barters 

All  on  earthly  ground  ; 
He  who,  like  the  martyrs, 

Says,  "  I  will  be  crowned  ; " 
He  whose  one  oblation 

Is  a  life  of  love, 
Clinging  to  the  nation 

Of  the  blest  above. 

Shame  upon  you,  legions 

Of  the  Heavenly  King, 
Denizens  of  regions 

Past  imagining  ! 
What !  with  pipe  and  tabor 

Fool  away  the  light. 
When  he  bids  you  labor ; 

When  he  tells  you,  "  Fight  ! " 


SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  417 

While  I  do  my  duty, 

Struggling  through  the  tide, 
Whisper  thou  of  beauty 

On  the  other  side  ! 
Tell  who  will  the  story 

Of  our  now  distress  : 
Oh,  the  future  glory  ! 

Oh,  the  loveliness ! 

780  St.  John  Damascene,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


GRADATIM. 

• 
T  TEAVEN  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound  ; 
-^  -■-     But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 
And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

I  count  this  thing  to  be  grandly  true : 
That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God, 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  clod, 

To  a  purer  air  and  a  broader  view. 

We  rise  by  the  things  that  are  under  feet ; 
By  what  we  have  mastered  of  good  and  gain. 
By  the  pride  deposed  and  the  passion  slain, 

And  the  vanquished  ills  that  we  hourly  meet. 

We  hope,  we  aspire,  we  resolve,  we  trust, 
When  the  morning  calls  us  to  life  and  light  ; 
But  our  hearts  grow  weary,  and  ere  the  night 

Our  lives  are  trailing  the  sordid  dust. 
27 


4^^^ 


rm-^^ 0 — L« 


^^ 


418  SOiVGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

We  hope,  we  resolve,  we  aspire,  we  pray, 

And  we  think  that  we  mount  the  air  on  wings 
Beyond  the  recall  of  sensual  things, 

While  our  feet  still  cling  to  the  heavy  clay. 

Wings  for  the  angels,  but  feet  for  men  ! 

We  may  borrow  the  wings  to  find  the  way  ; 

We  may  hope,  and  resolve,  and  aspire,  and  pray  ; 
But  our  feet  must  rise,  or  we  fall  again. 

Only  in  dreams  is  a  ladder  thrown 

From  the  weary  earth  to  the  sapphire  walls  ; 
But  the  dreams  depart,  and  the  vision  falls, 

And  the  sleeper  wakes  on  his  pillow  of  stone. 

Heaven  is  not  reached  at  a  single  bound  ; 
But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

1872.  J.  G.  Holland. 


TIME   WAS    I    SHRANK   FROM   WHAT   WAS 
RIGHT. 

^  I  ^IME  was  I  shrank  from  what  was  right, 
-■-       From  fear  of  what  was  wrong  ; 
I  would  not  brave  the  sacred  fight, 
Because  the  foe  was  strong. 

But  now  I  cast  that  finer  sense 

And  surer  shame  aside  : 
Such  dread  of  sin  was  indolence, 

Such  aim  at  Heaven  was  pride. 


SOA^GS  OF  COURAGE.  4^9 

So,  when  my  Saviour  calls,  I  rise 

And  calmly  do  my  best  ; 
Leaving  to  him,  with  silent  eyes 

Of  faith  and  hope,  the  rest. 

I  step,  I  mount,  where  he  has  led  ; 

Then  count  my  haltings  o'er  : 
I  know  them  ;  yet,  though  self  I  dread, 

I  love  his  precepts  more. 

1833.  John  H.  Newman. 


OH   SAY   NOT  THOU   ART   LEFT   OF  GOD. 

/^H,  say  not  thou  art  left  of  God, 
^^     Because  his  tokens  in  the  sky 
Thou  canst  not  read :  this  earth  he  trod 
To  teach  thee  he  was  ever  nigh. 

He  sees,  beneath  the  fig-tree  green, 
Nathanael  con  his  sacred  lore  : 

Shouldst  thou  thy  chamber  seek,  unseen 
He  enters  through  the  unopened  door. 

And,  when  thou  liest,  by  slumber  bound, 
Outwearied  in  the  Christian  fight. 

In  glory,  girt  with  saints  around. 

He  stands  above  thee  through  the  night. 

When  friends  to  Emmaus  bend  their  course, 
He  joins,  although  he  holds  their  eyes  ; 

Or,  shouldst  thou  feel  some  fever's  force, 
He  takes  thy  hand,  he  bids  thee  rise. 


^^ 


^ 

420  SONGS  OF   THE   SOUL. 

Or  on  a  voyage,  when  calms  prevail, 
And  prison  thee  upon  the  sea, 

He  walks  the  waves,  he  wings  the  sail, 
The  shore  is  gained,  and  thou  art  free  ! 

1833.  John  H.  Newman. 


SONG   FROM   "SINTRAM.^ 


"\T  T'HEN  death  is  coming  near, 
^  ^       When  thy  heart  shrinks  in  fear, 

And  thy  limbs  fail ; 
Then  raise  thy  hands,  and  pray 
To  Him  who  smooths  thy  way 

Through  the  dark  vale. 

Seest  thou  the  eastern  dawn  ? 
Hearest  thou  in  the  red  morn 

The  angels'  song  ? 
Oh  lift  thy  drooping  head. 
Thou  who  in  gloom  and  dread 

Hast  lain  so  long  ! 

Death  comes  to  set  thee  free : 
Oh  meet  him  cheerily 

As  thy  true  friend. 
And  all  thy  fears  shall  cease. 
And  in  eternal  peace 

Thy  penance  end. 

De  La  Motte  Fouquk. 


SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  42 1 


THOU,   WHO   DIDST   STOOP   BELOW. 


T 


^HOU,  who  didst  stoop  below 
To  drain  the  cup  of  woe, 
Wearing  the  form  of  frail  mortality, 
Thy  blessed  labors  done, 
Thy  crown  of  victory  won. 
Hast  passed  from  earth,  passed  to  thy  home  on  high  ; 

Our  eyes  behold  thee  not. 

Yet  hast  thou  not  forgot 
Those  who  have  placed  their  hope,  their  trust,  in  thee  ; 

Before  thy  Father's  face 

Thou  hast  prepared  a  place. 
That  where  thou  art,  there  they  may  also  be. 

It  was  no  path  of  flowers 

Through  this  dark  world  of  ours. 
Beloved  of  the  Father,  thou  didst  tread  ! 

And  shall  we  in  dismay 

Shrink  from  the  narrow  way. 
When  clouds  and  darkness  are  around  it  spread  ? 

O  Thou,  who  art  our  life. 

Be  with  us  through  the  strife  ! 
Thy  holy  head  by  earth's  fierce  storms  was  bowed  ; 

Raise  thou  our  eyes  above, 

To  see  a  Father's  love 
Beam,  like  the  bow  of  promise,  through  the  cloud. 

E'en  through  the  awful  gloom 
Which  hovers  o'er  the  tomb, 


422  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

That  light  of  love  our  guiding  stax  shall  be  ; 

Our  spirits  shall  not  dread 

The  shadow}'  way  to  tread, 
Friend,  Guardian,  Saviour,  which  doth  lead  to  thee  ! 

1340.  Sarah  A.  Miles. 


THOU   WHO   DIDST   SIT   ON   JACOB'S  WELL. 


np^HOU,  who  didst  sit  on  Jacob's  well 

-*-     The  weary  hour  of  noon. 
The  languid  pulses  thou  canst  tell. 

The  nerv'eless  spirit  tune. 
Thou,  from  whose  cross  in  anguish  burst 
The  cry  that  owned  thy  d}'ing  thirst. 
To  thee  we  turn,  our  Last  and  First, 
Our  Sun  and  soothing^  Moon. 


From  darkness  here,  and  dreariness. 

We  ask  not  full  repose  : 
Only  be  thou  at  hand  to  bless 

Our  trial-hour  of  woes. 
Is  not  the  pilgrim's  toil  o'erpaid 
By  the  clear  rill  and  palmy  shade  ? 
And  see  we  not,  up  earth's  dark  glade, 

The  gate  of  heaven  unclose  } 

18x7.  John  Keblk. 


w-^ 


%^ 


SOiVGS  OF  COURAGE.  423 


O   GOD,   THY   POWER   IS  WONDERFUL. 

/^  GOD,  thy  power  is  wonderful ; 
^^     Thy  glor)-,  passing  bright ; 
Thy  wisdom,  with  its  deep  on  deep, 
A  rapture  to  the  sight. 

I  see  thee  in  the  eternal  years. 

In  glor}^  all  alone. 
Ere  round  thine  uncreated  fires 

Created  light  had  shone. 

I  see  thee  walk  in  Men's  shade ; 

I  see  thee  through  aU  time ; 
Thy  patience  and  compassion  seem 

New  attributes  subUme. 

All  things  that  have  been,  all  that  are, 
AU  things  that  can  be  dreamed  ; 

All  possible  creations,  made. 
Kept  faithful,  or  redeemed,  — 

All  these  may  draw  upon  thy  power. 

Thy  mercy  may  command  ; 
And  still  outflows  thy  silent  sea. 

Immutable  and  grand, 

O  Kttle  heart  of  mine,  shall  pain 

Or  sorrow  make  thee  moan, 
\\Tien  this  great  God  is  aU  for  thee, 

A  Father  aU  thine  own  ? 

1S62.  F.  W.  Fabkk. 


% 


4^4  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


WHEN   SORROW   ALL   OUR   HEART   WOULD   ASK. 

"TT  7HEN  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask, 
^  ^       We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 
And  hide  ourselves  for  calm  ; 
The  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe, 
Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow  ; 
Our  common  air  is  balm. 

Around  each  pure,  domestic  shrine 
Bright  flowers  of  Eden  bloom  and  twine  ; 

Our  hearths  are  altars  all ; 
The  prayers  of  hungry  souls  and  poor. 
Like  armed  angels  at  the  door. 

Our  unseen  foes  appall. 

Alms  all  around,  and  hymns  within,  — 
What  evil  eye  can  entrance  win, 

Where  guards  like  these  abound } 
If  chance  some  heedless  heart  should  roam, 
Sure,  thought  of  these  will  lure  it  home, 

Ere  lost  in  Folly's  round. 

O  joys,  that,  sweetest  in  decay. 
Fall  not,  like  withered  leaves,  away  ; 

But,  with  the  silent  breath 
Of  violets  drooping  one  by  one 
Soon  as  their  fragrant  task  is  done, 

Are  wafted  high  in  death ! 

1827.  John  Keblb. 


mr^ 0— a 

SOjVGS  of  courage.  4^5 

COURAGE. 

"D  ECAUSE  I  hold  it  sinful  to  despond, 
-■-^     And  will  not  let  the  bitterness  of  life 
Blind  me  with  burning  tears,  but  look  beyond 
Its  tumult  and  its  strife  ; 

Because  I  lift  myself  above  the  mist, 

Where  the  sun  shines,  and  the  broad  breezes 
blow, 
By  every  ray  and  every  rain-drop  kissed, 
That  God's  love  doth  bestow,  — 

Think  you  I  find  no  bitterness  at  all, 

No  burden  to  be  borne  like  Christian's  pack  ? 
Think  you  there  are  no  ready  tears  to  fall. 
Because  I  keep  them  back? 

Why  should  I  hug  life's  ills  with  cold  reserve. 

To  curse  myself,  and  all  who  love  me  ?     Nay, 
A  thousand  times  more  good  than  I  deserve 
God  gives  me  every  day  ! 

And  in  each  one  of  these  rebeUious  tears 

Kept  bravely  back,  he  makes  a  rainbow  shine  : 
Grateful,  I  take  his  slightest  gifts  ;  no  fears 
Nor  any  doubts  are  mine. 

Dark  skies  must  clear,  and,  when  the  clouds  are 

past. 
One  golden  day  redeems  a  weary  year  ; 
Patient  I  listen,  sure  that  sweet  at  last 

Will  sound  his  voice  of  cheer. 


426  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Then  vex  me  not  with  chiding  ;  let  me  be  : 

I  must  be  glad  and  grateful  to  the  end  ; 
I  grudge  you  not  your  cold  and  darkness  ;  me 
The  powers  of  light  befriend. 


WITHIN   THIS   LEAF. 

"IT  7ITHIN  this  leaf,  to  every  eye 

^^     So  little  worth,  doth  hidden  lie 
Most  rare  and  subtle  fragrancy. 

Wouldst  thou  its  secret  strength  unbind  ? 
Crush  it,  and  thou  shalt  perfume  find 
Sweet  as  Arabia's  spicy  wind. 

In  this  dull  stone,  so  poor,  and  bare 
Of  shape  or  lustre,  patient  care 
Will  find  for  thee  a  jewel  rare  ; 

But  first  must  skilful  hands'  essay 

With  file  and  flint  to  clear  away 

The  film  which  hides  its  fire  from  day. 

This  leaf  ?  this  stone  ?     It  is  thy  heart ; 
It  must  be  crushed  by  pain  and  smart, 
It  must  be  cleansed  by  sorrow's  art, 

Ere  it  will  yield  a  fragrance  sweet. 
Ere  it  will  shine,  a  jewel  meet 
To  lay  before  thy  dear  Lord's  feet. 


WlLBERFORCB. 


0— Is 

SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  427 

DEAR   LORD,    IN   ALL   OUR   LONELIEST   PAINS. 

T^EAR  Lord,  in  all  our  loneliest  pains, 
-■-^     Thou  hast  the  largest  share, 
And  that  which  is  unbearable, 
'Tis  thine,  not  ours,  to  bear. 

How  merciful  thine  anger  is  ! 

How  tender  it  can  be ! 
How  wonderful  all  sorrows  are 

Which  come  direct  from  thee  !     , 

Years  fly,  O  Lord,  and  every  year 

More  desolate  I  grow  ; 
My  world  of  friends  thins  round  me  fast, 

Love  after  love  lies  low. 

There  are  fresh  gaps  around  the  hearth, 

Old  places  left  unfilled. 
And  young  lives  quenched  before  the  old, 

And  the  love  of  old  hearts  chilled. 

Dear  voices  and  dear  faces  missed, 

Sweet  households  overthrown ; 
And  what  is  left,  more  sad  to  see 

Than  the  sight  of  what  has  gone. 

All  this  is  to  be  sanctified, 

This  rupture  with  the  past ; 
For  thus  we  die  before  our  deaths, 

And  so  die  well  at  last ! 

1862.  F.  W.  Faber. 


428  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

WE   MAY   NOT   CLIMB   THE   HEAVENLY   STEEPS. 

1^'\  7E  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 

^  ^       To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down  ; 
In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps, 
For  him  no  depths  can  drown. 

But  warm,  sweet,  tender,  even  yet 

A  present  help  is  he  ; 
And  faith  has  yet  its  Olivet, 

And  love  its  Galilee. 

The  healing  of  the  seamless  dress 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
We  touch  him  in  life's  throng  and  press, 

And  we  are  whole  again. 

Through  him  the  first  fond  prayers  are  said 

Our  lips  of  childhood  frame  ; 
The  last  low  whispers  of  our  dead 

Are  burdened  with  his  name. 

O  Lord  and  Master  of  us  all, 

Whate'er  our  name  or  sign, 
We  own  thy  sway,  we  hear  thy  call, 

We  test  our  lives  by  thine  ! 

1846.  John  G.  Whittier. 

SHALL   WE  GROW   WEARY    IN    OUR   WATCH  ? 

OHALL  we  grow  weary  in  our  watch, 
^^     And  murmur  at  the  long  delay. 
Impatient  of  our  Father's  time. 
And  his  appointed  way } 


1*1—0 0— IS 

SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  429 

Alas  !  a  deeper  test  of  faith 

Than  prison-cell  or  martyr's  stake 
The  self-abasing  watchfulness 
Of  silent  prayer  may  make  ! 

We  gird  us  bravely  to  rebuke 

Our  erring  brother  in  the  wrong  ; 
And  in  the  ear  of  Pride  and  Power 
Our  warning  voice  is  strong. 

Easier  to  smite  with  Peter's  sword, 

Than  "  watch  one  hour  "  in  humbling  prayer  ; 
Life's  "  great  things,"  like  the  Syrian  lord, 
Our  hearts  can  do  and  dare. 

But  oh  !  we  shrink  from  Jordan's  side. 
From  waters  which  alone  can  save. 
And  murmur  for  Abana's  banks, 
And  Pharpar's  brighter  wave  ! 

O  Thou  who  in  the  garden's  shade 

Didst  wake  thy  weary  ones  again. 
Who  slumbered  at  that  fearful  hour, 
Forgetful  of  thy  pain,  — 

Bend  o'er  us  now,  as  over  them. 

And  set  our  sleep-bound  spirits  free. 
Nor  leave  us  slumbering  in  the  watch 
Our  souls  should  keep  with  thee  ! 

1840.  John  G.  Whittier. 


430  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

THE  lp:gend  beautiful. 

"TTAD'ST  thou  stayed,  I  must  have  fled!" 
-^  -*■     That  is  what  the  Vision  said. 

In  his  chamber,  all  alone, 
Kneeling  on  the  floor  of  stone, 
Prayed  the  monk  in  deep  contrition 
For  his  sins  of  indecision  ; 
Prayed  for  greater  self-denial 
In  temptation  and  in  trial : 
It  was  noonday  by  the  dial, 
And  the  monk  was  all  alone. 

Suddenly,  as  if  it  lightened. 
An  unwonted  splendor  brightened 
All  within  him  and  without  him, 
In  that  narrow  cell  of  stone  ; 
And  he  saw  the  blessed  vision 
Of  our  Lord,  with  light  elysian. 
Like  a  vesture  wrapped  about  him. 
Like  a  garment  round  him  thrown. 

Not  as  crucified  and  slain, 
Not  in  agonies  of  pain. 
Not  with  bleeding  hands  and  feet, 
Did  the  monk  his  Master  see  ; 
But  as  in  the  village  street, 
In  the  house  or  harvest-field, 
Halt  and  lame  and  blind  he  healed, 
When  he  walked  in  Galilee. 


0—1*1 

SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  43 1 

In  an  attitude  imploring, 

Hands  upon  his  bosom  crossed, 

Wondering,  worshipping,  adoring. 

Knelt  the  monk  in  rapture  lost  ; 

Lord,  he  thought,  in  heaven  that  reignest, 

Who  am  I,  that  thus  thou  deignest 

To  reveal  thyself  to  me  ! 

Who  am  I,  that,  from  the  centre 

Of  thy  glory,  thou  shouldst  enter 

This  poor  cell,  my  Guest  to  be ! 

Then,  amid  his  exaltation, 
Loud  the  convent-bell  appalling. 
From  its  belfry  calling,  calling. 
Rang  through  court  and  corridor, 
With  persistent  iteration 
He  had  never  heard  before. 


It  was  now  the  appointed  hour, 
When,  alike  in  shine  or  shower, 
Winter's  cold  or  summer's  heat, 
To  the  convent-portals  came 
All  the  blind  and  halt  and  lame. 
All  the  beggars  of  the  street, 
For  their  daily  dole  of  food 
Dealt  them  by  the  brotherhood  ; 
And  their  almoner  was  he 
Who,  upon  his  bended  knee. 
Wrapt  in  silent  ecstasy 
Of  divinest  self-surrender. 
Saw  the  Vision  and  the  Splendor. 


e 


432  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Deep  distress  and  hesitation 
Mingled  with  his  adoration  : 
Should  he  go,  or  should  he  stay  ? 
Should  he  leave  the  poor  to  wait 
Hungry  at  the  convent-gate, 
Till  the  Vision  passed  away  ? 
Should  he  slight  his  heavenly  Guest, 
Slight  this  Visitant  celestial, 
For  a  crowd  of  ragged,  bestial 
Beggars  at  the  convent-gate  ? 
Would  the  Vision  there  remain  ? 
Would  the  Vision  come  again  ? 
Then  a  voice  within  his  breast 
Whispered,  audible  and  clear. 
As  if  to  the  outward  ear, 
"  Do  thy  duty  ;  that  is  best : 
Leave  unto  thy  Lord  the  rest ! " 

Straightway  to  his  feet  he  started, 
And,  with  longing  look  intent 
On  the  blessed  Vision  bent. 
Slowly  from  his  cell  departed, 
Slowly  on  his  errand  went. 

At  the  gate  the  poor  were  waiting, 
Looking  through  the  iron  grating 
With  that  terror  in  the  eye 
That  is  only  seen  in  those 
Who,  amid  their  wants  and  woes, 
Hear  the  sound  of  doors  that  close, 
And  of  feet  that  pass  them  by ; 


— ^—t* 

so  ACS  OF  COURAGE.  433 

Grown  familiar  with  disfavor, 
Grown  familiar  with  the  savor 
Of  the  bread  by  which  men  die ! 
But  to-day,  they  knew  not  why, 
Like  the  gate  of  Paradise 
Seemed  the  convent-gate  to  rise  ; 
Like  a  sacrament  divine 
Seemed  to  them  the  bread  and  wine. 
In  his  heart  the  monk  was  praying, 
Thinking  of  the  homeless  poor, — 
What  they  suffer  and  endure  ; 
What  we  see  not,  what  we  see  : 
And  the  inward  voice  was  saying, 
*'  Whatsoever  thing  thou  doest 
To  the  least  of  mine,  and  lowest. 
That  thou  doest  unto  me ! " 


Unto  me !  but  had  the  Vision 
Come  to  him  in  beggar's  clothing. 
Come,  a  mendicant,  imploring. 
Would  he  then  have  knelt  adoring, 
Or  have  listened  with  derision. 
And  have  turned  away  with  loathing  ? 
Thus  his  conscience  put  the  question, 
Full  of  troublesome  suggestion. 
As  at  length,  with  hurried  pace, 
Towards  his  cell  he  turned  his  face. 
And  beheld  the  convent  bright 
With  a  supernatural  light, 
Like  a  luminous  cloud  expanding 
Over  floor  and  wall  and  ceiling. 

2S 


^ 


% 


434  SOA^GS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

But  he  paused  with  awe-struck  feeHng 
At  the  threshold  of  the  door ; 
For  the  Vision  still  was  standing 
As  he  left  it  there  before, 
When  the  convent-bell  appalling 
From  its  belfry  calling,  calling, 
Summoned  him  to  feed  the  poor. 
Through  the  long  hour  intervening 
It  had  waited  his  return  ; 
And  he  felt  his  bosom  burn, 
Comprehending  all  the  meaning, 
When  the  blessed  Vision  said, 
"  Had'st  thou  stayed,  I  must  have  fled." 

1871.  H.  W.  Longfellow. 


FROM   "LINES   TO   THE   REV.    F.  D.    MAURICE." 

^  I  ^HEY  lay  their  corner-stones  in  dark 
-*-       Deep  waters,  who  upbuild  in  beauty 
On  earth's  old  heart  their  triumph-arc, 
That  crowns  with  glory  lives  of  duty. 

And  meekly  still  the  martyrs  go. 

To  keep  with  pain  their  solemn  bridal ; 

And  still  they  walk  the  fires  who  bow 
Not  down  to  worship  custom's  idol ! 

In  fieriest  forge  of  martyrdom 

Their  sword  of  souls  must  weld  and  brighten  ; 
Tear-bathed,  from  fiercest  furnace,  come 

Their  lives,  heroic,  tempered,  Titan  ! 


<H — 0- 


SO.VGS  OF  COURAGE.  435 

And  heart-strings  sweetest  music  make 
When  swept  by  suffering's  fiery  fingers  ; 

And  through  soul-shadows  starriest  break 
The  glories  on  God's  brave  light-bringers  ! 

Take  heart !  though  sown  in  tears  and  blood, 
No  seed  that  quick  with  love  hath  perished, 

Though  dropped  in  barren  byways,  —  God 
Some  glorious  flower  of  life  hath  cherished  ! 

Take  heart !  the  rude  dust,  dark  to-day, 
Soars,  a  new-lighted  sphere,  to-morrow. 

And  wings  of  splendor  burst  the  clay 
That  wraps  us  in  death's  fruitful  furrow ! 

1854.  Gerald  Massey. 


GOD'S    ANVIL. 

{From  the  Gerjnan.^ 

"PLAIN'S  furnace-heat  within  me  quivers ; 
-*-        God's  breath  upon  the  flame  doth  blow  ; 
And  all  my  heart  in  anguish  shivers. 

And  trembles  at  the  fiery  glow  ; 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will !  " 
And,  in  his  hottest  fire,  hold  still. 

He  comes  and  lays  my  heart,  all  heated. 

On  the  hard  anvil,  minded  so 
Into  his  own  fair  shape  to  beat  it 

With  his  great  hammer,  blow  on  blow  ; 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will  ! " 
And,  at  his  heaviest  blows,  hold  still. 


p^e-o — 0— IS 

436  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

He  takes  my  softened  heart  and  beats  it ; 

The  sparks  fly  off  at  every  blow  ; 
He  turns  it  o'er  and  o'er,  and  heats  it, 

And  lets  it  cool,  and  makes  it  glow  ; 
And  yet  I  whisper,  "  As  God  will ! " 
And,  in  his  mighty  hand,  hold  still. 

Why  should  I  murmur  ?  for  the  sorrow 

Thus  only  longer-lived  would  be  ; 
Its  end  may  come,  and  will,  to-morrow. 

When  God  has  done  his  work  in  me : 
So  I  say,  trusting,  "  As  God  will ! " 
And,  trusting  to  the  end,  hold  still. 

He  kindles  for  my  profit  purely 

Affliction's  glowing,  fiery  brand. 
And  all  his  heaviest  blows  are  surely 

Inflicted  by  a  master's  hand  ; 
So  I  say,  praying,  "  As  God  will !  " 
And  hope  in  him,  and  suffer  still. 

Julius  Sturm. 


AS   THE   HARP-STRINGS   ONLY   RENDER. 
{Sicut  chorda  fnusicorum.) 

\  S  the  harp-strings  only  render 
■^-^     All  their  treasures  of  sweet  sound, 
All  their  music,  glad  or  tender. 
Firmly  struck  and  tightly  bound  ; 


SONGS  OF  COURAGE.  437 

So  the  hearts  of  Christians  owe, 
Each  its  deepest,  sweetest  strain, 

To  the  pressure  firm  of  woe, 
And  the  tension  tight  of  pain. 

Spices  crushed  their  pungence  yield, 
Trodden  scents  their  sweets  respire : 

Would  you  have  its  strength  revealed, 
Cast  the  incense  in  the  fire. 

Thus  the  crushed  and  broken  frame 
Oft  doth  sweetest  graces  yield  : 

And  through  suffering,  toil,  and  shame, 

From  the  martyr's  keenest  flame 
Heavenly  incense  is  distilled. 

1 172.  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  trans,  by  Mrs.  Charlbs. 


HOW   FIRM   A   FOUNDATION,   YE   SAINTS    OF 
THE    LORD. 

T  TOW  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord, 
-*-  -^     Is  laid  for  your  faith  in  his  excellent  word  ! 
What  more  can  he  say  than  to  you  he  hath  said, 
You  who  unto  Jesus  for  refuge  hath  fled  ! 

Fear  not,  I  am  with  thee,  oh  be  not  dismayed  ; 

I,  I  am  thy  God,  and  will  still  give  thee  aid ; 

I'll  strengthen  thee,  help  thee,  and  cause  thee  to 

stand. 
Upheld  by  my  righteous,  omnipotent  hand. 


^H — f>- 


438  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

When  through  the  deep  waters  I  call  thee  to  go, 
The  rivers  of  woe  shall  not  thee  overflow ; 
For  I  will  be  with  thee,  thy  troubles  to  bless. 
And  sanctify  to  thee  thy  deepest  distress. 

When  through  fiery  trials  thy  pathway  shall  lie. 
My  grace,  all-sufficient,  shall  be  thy  supply : 
The  flame  shall  not  hurt  thee  ;  I  only  design 
Thy  dross  to  consume,  and  thy  gold  to  refine. 

The  soul  that  to  Jesus  hath  fled  for  repose, 

I  will  not,  I  will  not  desert  to  his  foes  ; 

That  soul,  though  all  hell  should  endeavor  to  shake, 

I'll  never,  no,  never,  no,  never  forsake  ! 

KiRKHAM. 


LET   OUR   CHOIR   NEW   ANTHEMS   RAISE. 

(Twv  Ltpuv  a.dh)<}>dpo)V.) 

T  ET  our  choir  new  anthems  raise  ; 
-*— ^  Wake  the  morn  with  gladness  : 
God  himself  to  joy  and  praise 

Turns  the  martyr's  sadness. 
This  the  day  that  won  their  crown, 

Opened  heaven's  bright  portal, 
As  they  laid  the  mortal  down, 

And  put  on  the  immortal. 

Never  flinched  they  from  the  flame, 

From  the  torture  never  ; 
Vain  the  foeman's  sharpest  aim, 

Satan's  best  endeavor : 


^^^— 0 — 0— :ffi 

SOJVGS  OF  COURAGE,  439 

For  by  faith  they  saw  the  land, 

Decked  in  all  its  glory, 
Where  triumphant  now  they  stand 

With  the  victor's  story. 

Faith  they  had  that  knew  not  shame, 

Love  that  could  not  languish  ; 
And  eternal  hope  o'ercame 

Momentary  anguish. 
He  who  trod  the  self-same  road. 

Death  and  hell  defeated  ; 
Wherefore  these  their  passions  showed, 

Calvary  repeated. 

Up  and  follow,  Christian  men  ! 

Press  through  toil  and  sorrow  ! 
Spurn  the  sight  of  fear,  and  then, 

Oh,  the  glorious  morrow  ! 
Who  will  venture  on  the  strife  ? 

Who  will  first  begin  it  ? 
Who  will  seize  the  land  of  life  ? 

Warriors,  up  and  win  it ! 

gjQ,  St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale. 


SONGS    OF    LOVE. 


-3>»<C 


THE   MINISTRY   OF    AN'GELS. 

A  XD  is  there  care  in  heaven,  and  is  there  love 
■^^^  In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  bace, 
That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move  ? 

There  is,  —  else  much  more  wretched  were  the 
cace 

Of  men  than  beasts.     But,  O,  the  exceeding  grace 
Of  highest  God,  that  loves  his  creatures  so. 

And  all  his  workes  with  mercy  doth  embrace, 
That  blessed  angels  he  sends  to  and  fro 
To  sene  to  wicked  man,  to  ser\'e  his  wicked  foe ! 

How^  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave, 
To  come  to  succour  us  that  succour  want ! 

How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pineons  cleave 
The  flitting  Skyes,  like  flpng  pursuivant, 
Against  foule  feendes  to  aid  us  militant ! 

They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  dewly  ward, 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant, 

And  all  for  love,  and  nothing  for  reward  : 

O,  why  should   hevenly  God   to   man   have   such 
regard  ! 

iS96i  Edmund  Speksek. 


444  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

SONG   OF   THE   CRUSADERS. 

{Schdnsier  Herr  Jesu.) 

■pAIREST  Lord  Jesus, 

-^        Ruler  of  nature  ! 
Jesus,  of  God  and  of  Mary  the  Son  ! 

Thee  will  I  cherish, 

Thee  will  I  honor  ; 
Thee,  my  delight,  and  my  glory,  and  crown  ! 

Fair  are  the  meadows. 

Fairer  the  woodlands, 
Robed  in  the  flowery  vesture  of  spring  : 

Jesus  is  fairer, 

Jesus  is  purer, 
Making  my  sorrowful  spirit  to  sing  ! 

Fair  is  the  moonshine, 

Fairer  the  sunlight, 
Than  all  the  starry,  celestial  host  : 

Jesus  shines  brighter, 

Jesus  shines  purer, 
Than  all  the  angels  that  heaven  can  boast ! 

1 2th  century. 

NOTHING   FAIR   ON    EARTH    I    SEE. 
(^Keine  Schonheit  hat  die  well.) 

■jVrOTHING  fair  on  earth  I  see, 
-^  ^      But  I  straightway  think  on  thee  ; 
Thou  art  fairest  in  mine  eyes, 
Source  in  whom  all  beauty  lies  ! 


SO.VGS  OF  LOVE.  445 

When  I  see  the  reddening  dawn, 
And  the  golden  sun  of  morn, 
Quickly  turns  this  heart  of  mine 
To  thy  glorious  form  divine. 

Oft  I  think  upon  thy  light, 

When  the  gray  morn  breaks  the  night  ; 

Think  what  glories  lie  in  thee, 

Light  of  all  eternity  ! 

When  I  see  the  moon  arise, 
'Mid  heaven's  thousand  golden  eyes, 
Then  I  think,  more  glorious  far 
Is  the  Maker  of  yon  star. 

Or  I  think  in  spring's  sweet  hours. 
When  the  fields  are  gay  with  flowers, 
As  their  varied  hues  I  see. 
What  must  their  Creator  be  ! 

When  along  the  brook  I  wander, 

Or  beside  the  fountain  ponder, 

Straight  my  thoughts  take  wing  and  mount 

Up  to  thee,  the  purest  Fount. 

Sweetly  sings  the  nightingale  ; 
Sweet  the  flute's  soft,  plaintive  tale : 
Sweeter  than  their  richest  tone 
Is  the  name  of  Clary's  Son. 

Sweetly  all  the  air  is  stirred, 
When  the  echo's  call  is  heard  ; 
But  no  sounds  my  heart  rejoice 
Like  to  my  Beloved's  voice. 


44^  SOA'GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Come,  then,  fairest  Lord,  appear ! 
Come,  let  me  behold  thee  here ! 
I  would  see  thee  face  to  face, 
On  thy  glorious  light  would  gaze. 

Take  away  these  veils  that  blind, 
Jesus,  all  my  soul  and  mind  ; 
Henceforth  ever  let  my  heart 
See  thee  truly  as  thou  art. 

1624.  Angelus  Silesius,  trans,  by  Catharine  VVinkworth. 


THE   SPILT   PEARLS. 

{From  the  Persian.) 

T  TIS  courtiers  of  the  caliph  crave : 
^  -*-     "  Oh  say  how  this  may  be, 
That,  of  thy  slaves,  this  Ethiop  slave 
Is  best  beloved  by  thee. 

"  For  he  is  hideous  as  the  night  : 

Yet  when  has  ever  chose 
A  nightingale,  for  its  delight, 

A  hueless,  scentless  rose  } " 

The  caliph  then  :  "  No  features  fair, 

No  comely  mien,  are  his  : 
Love  is  the  beauty  he  doth  wear. 

And  love  his  glory  is. 

"  Once  when  a  camel  of  my  train 
There  fell  in  narrow  street, 

From  broken  casket  rolled  amain 
Rich  pearls  before  my  feet. 


-^— Hi: 


— 0— j# 

SOA'GS  OF  LOVE.      .  447 

"  I  nodding  to  my  slaves  that  I 

Would  freely  give  them  these, 
At  once  upon  the  spoil  they  fly, 

The  costly  boon  to  seize. 

"  One  only  at  my  side  remained,  — 

Beside  this  Ethiop  none  : 
He,  moveless  as  the  steed  he  reined, 

Beside  me  sat  alone. 

" '  What  will  thy  gain,  good  fellow,  be. 

Thus  lingering  at  my  side  ? ' 
'  My  king,  that  I  shall  faithfully 

Have  guarded  thee/  he  cried. 

"  '  True  servant's  title  he  may  wear, 

He  only,  who  has  not, 
For  his  lord's  gifts,  how  rich  soe'er. 

His  lord  himself  forgot.'  " 

So  thou  alone  dost  walk  before 

Thy  God  with  perfect  aim, 
From  him  desiring  nothing  more 

Beside  himself  to  claim. 

For  if  thou  not  to  him  aspire. 

But  to  his  gifts  alone, 
Not  love,  but  covetous  desire. 

Has  brought  thee  to  his  throne. 

While  such  thy  prayer,  it  climbs  above 

In  vain  :  the  golden  key 
Of  God's  rich  treasure-house  of  love. 

Thine  own  will  never  be. 

»856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


44^  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


IF  JESUS    CAME   TO    EARTH   AGAIN. 

TF  Jesus  came  to  earth  again, 

-^     And  walked  and  talked  in  field  and 

street, 
Who  would  not  lay  his  human  pain 
Low  at  those  heavenly  feet  ? 

And  leave  the  loom,  and  leave  the  lute, 
And  leave  the  volume  on  the  shelf. 

To  follow  him,  unquestioning,  mute. 
If  'twere  the  Lord  himself  ? 

How  many  a  brow  with  care  o'erworn, 
How  many  a  heart  with  grief  o'erladen, 

How  many  a  youth  with  woe  forlorn, 
How  many  a  mourning  maiden. 

Would  leave  the  baffling  earthly  prize 
Which  fails  the  earthly,  weak  endeavor, 

To  gaze  into  those  holy  eyes, 
And  drink  content  for  ever ! 

And  I  where'er  he  went  would  go, 

Nor  question  where  the  path  might  lead: 

Enough  to  know  that  here  below 
I  walked  with  God  indeed ! 

If  this  be  thus,  O  Lord  of  mine. 

In  absence  is  thy  love  forgot  ? 
And  must  I,  when  I  walk,  repine, 

Because  I  see  thee  not  ? 


i-^r^ 


0— t* 

SONGS  OF  LOVE.  449 

If  this  be  thus,  if  this  be  thus, 

And  bur  poor  prayers  yet  reach  thee,  Lord, 

Since  we  are  weak,  once  more  to  us 
Reveal  the  Living  Word  ! 

Oh,  nearer  to  me  in  the  dark 

Of  Ufe's  low  hours  one  moment  stand, 

And  give  me  keener  eyes  to  mark 
The  moving  of  thy  hand. 

1857.  Owen  Meredith. 


THE  GARDEN   OF  GOD. 

(Toiffi  hifXTzei.  fiev  (levoQ  azTlom  ruv  kvduSe  vvktu  kutu, 
<potvuiop66otc  6'evl  Xeifj-uveaot  Trfjoaartov  avruv 
Kal  ?u(3ava}  OKcapa  koi  xP^^^^ol^  Kop-Kolq  (3el3pLdev.) 

/"^HRIST  in  his  heavenly  garden  walks  all  day, 
^"-^     And  calls  to  souls  upon  the  world's  highway  ; 
Wearied  with  trifles,  maimed  and  sick  with  sin, 
Christ  by  the  gate  stands,  and  invites  them  in. 

"  How  long,  unwise,  will  ye  pursue  your  woe  ? 
Here  from  the  throne  sweet  waters  ever  go  ; 
Here  the  white  lilies  shine  like  stars  above  ; 
Here  in  the  red  rose  burns  the  face  of  Love. 

"  'Tis  not  from  earthly  paths  I  bid  you  flee, 
But  lighter  in  my  ways  your  feet  will  be  : 
'Tis  not  to  summon  you  from  human  mirth, 
But  add  a  depth  and  sweetness  not  of  earth. 
29 


450  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

"  Still  by  the  gate  I  stand,  as  on  ye  stray : 
Turn  your  steps  hither  :  am  I  not  the  Way  ? 
The  sun  is  falling  fast ;  the  night  is  nigh  : 
Why  will  ye  wander  ?     Wherefore  will  ye  die  ? 

"  Look  on  my  hands  and  side,  for  I  am  he  : 
None  to  the  Father  cometh  but  by  me  : 
For  you  I  died  ;  and  more,  I  call  you  home  : 
I  live  again  for  you  !     My  children,  come  !  " 

1868.  Francis  Turner  Palgravb- 


SPEAK   TO   ME,   O   MY   SAVIOUR. 

OPEAK  to  me,  O  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet, 

*^     From  out  the  hallelujahs,  sweet  and  low, 

Lest  I  should  fear  and  fall,  and  miss  thee  so, 

Who  art  not  missed  where  faithful  hearts  entreat : 

Speak  to  me  as  to  Mary  at  thy  feet ; 

And,  if  no  precious  gums  my  hands  bestow, 

My  tears  fall  fast  as  amber.     Let  me  go 

In  reach  of  thy  divinest  voice,  complete 

With  humanest  affection,  there,  in  sooth, 

To  lose  the  sense  of  losing,  as  a  child, 

Its  song-bird  being  lost,  fled  evermore. 

Is  sung  to  in  its  stead  by  mother's  mouth ; 

Till,  sinking  on  her  breast,  love  reconciled, 

He  sleeps  the  faster  that  he  wept  before. 

1844.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browntnc. 


# 


-0— HI: 


m— *- 0— If*: 

SONGS   OF  LOVE.  45  I 

HARK,   MY   SOUL!    IT   IS   THE   LORD. 

TTARK,  my  soul !  it  is  the  Lord, 
-*-  -*-     'Tis  thy  Saviour  :  hear  his  word  ! 
Jesus  speaks,  and  speaks  to  thee : 
"  Say,  poor  sinner,  lov'st  thou  me  ? 

"  I  dehvered  thee  when  bound, 
And,  when  bleeding,  healed  thy  wound ; 
Sought  thee  wandering,  set  thee  right, 
Turned  thy  darkness  into  light. 

"  Can  a  woman's  tender  care 
Cease  towards  the  child  she  bare  ? 
Yes,  she  may  forgetful  be, 
Yet  will  I  remember  thee  ! 

"  Mine  is  an  unchanging  love, 
Higher  than  the  heights  above, 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath, 
Free  and  faithful,  strong  as  death. 

•'  Thou  shalt  see  my  glory  soon, 
When  the  work  of  grace  is  done ; 
Partner  of  my  throne  shalt  be : 
Say,  poor  sinner,  lov'st  thou  me  ?  " 

Lord,  it  is  my  chief  complaint, 
That  my  love  is  weak  and  faint ; 
Yet  I  love  thee,  and  adore  ! 
Oh  for  grace  to  love  thee  more ! 

«779-  William  Cowper. 


452  SOJVCS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

THE   GREATEST   OF   THESE   IS   CHARITY. 
(  Unter  jenen  grossen  Jahren^ 

1V/r  AN  Y  a  gift  did  Christ  impart : 
^^     Noblest  of  them  all  is  love,  — 
Love,  a  balm  within  the  heart, 

That  can  all  its  pains  remove ; 
Love,  a  star  most  bright  and  pure  ; 
Love,  a  gem  of  priceless  worth, 
Richer  than  man  knows  on  earth  ; 
Love,  like  beauty,  strong  to  lure  : 
Love,  like  joy,  makes  man  her  thrall, 
Strong  to  please  and  conquer  all. 

Love  can  give  us  all  things  here. 

Use  and  beauty  cannot  sever ; 
Love  can  raise  us  to  that  sphere 

Whence  the  soul  tends  heavenward  ever ; 
Though  one  speak  with  angel-tongues 

Bravest  words  of  strength  and  fire, 

If  no  love  his  heart  inspire, 
They  are  but  as  fleeting  songs  ; 
All  his  eloquence  shall  pass 
As  the  noise  of  sounding  brass. 

Science  with  her  keen-eyed  glance, 

All  the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
Mysteries  that  the  soul  entrance. 

Faith  that  mighty  hills  had  hurled 


^H— 0- 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  453 

From  their  ancient  seats,  —  all  this, 
Wherein  man  most  takes  his  pride, 
Valueless  is  cast  aside. 
If  the  spirit  there  we  miss 
That  can  work  from  Love  alone, 
Not  from  pride  in  what  is  known. 

Though  I  lavished  all  I  have 

On  the  poor  in  charity  ; 
Though  I  shrank  not  from  the  grave, 

Or  unmoved  the  stake  could  see  ; 
Though  my  body  here  were  given 

To  the  all-consuming  flame,  — 

If  my  mind  were  still  the  same, 
Meeter  were  I  not  for  heaven. 
Till  by  Love  my  works  were  crowned, 
Till  in  Love  my  strength  were  found. 

Faith  must  conquer,  Hope  must  bloom, 

As  our  onward  path  we  wend. 
Else  we  came  not  through  the  gloom  ; 

But  with  earth  they  also  end. 
Thou,  O  Love,  dost  stretch  afar, 

Through  the  wide  eternity  ; 

And  the  soul,  arrayed  in  thee. 
Shines  for  ever  as  a  star. 
Faith  and  Hope  must  pass  away  : 
Thou,  O  Love,  endurest  aye  ! 

X7H.  Ernst  Lange. 


454  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


WERE   NOT   THE   SINFUL   MARY'S   TEARS. 

TT yERE  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

'  ^     An  offering  worthy  heaven, 
When  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years 
She  wept,  and  was  forgiven  ? 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 

Her  day  of  luxury  stored, 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallowed  feet 

The  precious  ointment  poured, 

And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  hair 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone  ; 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  are  there 
Which  shine  for  God  alone  ? 

Were  not  those  tears  so  humbly  shed, 

That  hair,  those  weeping  eyes, 
And  the  sunk  heart  that  inly  bled. 

Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  ? 

Thou  who  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 
Oh,  would'st  thou  wake  in  heaven. 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"  Love  much,"  and  be  forgiven  ! 

1816.  Thomas  Moore. 


SHE   LOVED   MUCH. 

OHE  sat,  and  wept  beside  his  feet.     The  weight 
^  Of  sin  oppressed  her  heart ;  for  all  the  blame. 

And  the  poor  malice  of  the  worldly  shame. 
To  her  was  past,  extinct,  and  out  of  date. 


fM — 0- 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  455 

Only  the  sin  remained,  the  leprous  state ; 
She  would  be  melted  by  the  heat  of  love, 
By  fires  far  fiercer  than  are  blown  to  prove, 

And  purge  the  silver  we  adulterate. 

She  sat  and  wept,  and  with  her  untressed  hair 
Still  wiped  the  feet  she  was  so  blest  to  touch  ; 
And  he  wiped  off  the  soiling  of  despair 

From  her  sweet  soul,  because  %he  loved  so  much. 

I  am  a  sinner,  full  of  doubts  and  fears  : 
Make  me  a  humble  thing  of  love  and  tears  ! 

X849.  Hartley  Coleridge. 


SHE  BROUGHT  HER  BOX  OF  ALABASTER. 

O  HE  brought  her  box  of  alabaster  ; 
^^  The  precious  spikenard  filled  the  room 
With  honor  worthy  of  the  Master, 
A  costly,  rare,  and  rich  perfume. 

Her  tears  for  sin  fell  hot  and  thickly  • 
On  his  dear  feet,  outstretched  and  bare  ; 

Unconscious  how,  she  wiped  them  quickly 
With  the  long  ringlets  of  her  hair. 

And  richly  fall  those  raven  tresses 
Adown  her  cheek,  like  willow-leaves, 

As  stooping  still,  with  fond  caresses. 
She  plies  her  task  of  love,  and  grieves. 

Oh  may  we  thus,  like  loving  Mary, 
Ever  our  choicest  offerings  bring. 

Nor  grudging  of  our  toil,  nor  chary 
Of  costly  service  to  our  King ! 


456  sOjVGs  of  the  soul. 

Methinks  I  hear  from  Christian  lowly 
Some  hallowed  voice  at  evening  rise, 

Or  quiet  morn,  or  in  the  holy, 

Unclouded  calm  of  Sabbath  skies,  — 

I  bring  my  box  of  alabaster, 

Of  earthly  loves  I  break  the  shrine. 

And  pour  affections,  purer,  vaster. 

On  that  dear  head,  those  feet  of  thine. 

The  joys  I  prized,  the  hopes  I  cherished, 
The  fairest  flowers  my  fancy  wove, 

Behold  my  fondest  idols  perished  ; 
Receive  the  incense  of  my  love ! 

What  though  the  scornful  world,  deriding 
Such  waste  of  love,  of  service,  fears  ? 

Still  let  me  pour,  through  taunt  and  chiding, 
The  rich  libation  of  my  tears. 

I  bring  my  box  of  alabaster  ; 

Accepted  let  the  offering  rise  ! 
So  grateful  tears  shall  flow  the  faster, 

In  founts  of  gladness  from  mine  eyes  ! 

C.  L.  FoRO. 


WE   COME   NOT   WITH   A   COSTLY    STORE. 

WE  come  not  with  a  costly  store, 
O  Lord,  like  them  of  old, 
The  masters  of  the  starry  lore. 
From  Ophir's  shore  of  gold  ; 


-0— W: 

SOA^GS  OF  LOVE.  457 

No  weepings  of  the  incense-tree 

Are  with  the  gifts  we  bring  ; 
No  odorous  myrrh  of  Araby 

Blends  with  our  offering. 

But  faith  and  love  may  bring  their  best, 

A  spirit  keenly  tried 
By  fierce  affliction's  fiery  test, 

And  seven  times  purified  : 
The  fragrant  graces  of  the  mind, 

The  virtues  that  delight 
To  give  their  perfume  out,  will  find 

Acceptance  in  thy  sight. 

SINCE   FIRST  THY   WORD  AWAKED   MY   HEART. 

OINCE  first  thy  word  awaked  my  heart, 
^^     Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me, 
Where'er  I  turn  mine  eyes,  thou  art 

All  light  and  love  before  me. 
Nought  else  I  feel  or  hear  or  see  ; 

All  bonds  of  earth  I  sever  ; 
Thee,  O  God,  and  only  thee, 

I  live  for  now  and  ever  ! 

Like  him  whose  fetters  dropped  away 

When  light  shone  o'er  his  prison. 
My  spirit,  touched  by  mercy's  ray, 

Hath  from  her  chains  arisen. 
And  shall  a  soul  thou  bidst  be  free 

Return  to  bondage  ?     Never  ! 
Thee,  O  God,  and  only  thee, 

I  live  for  now  and  ever  ! 

1816.  Thomas    Moorb- 


458  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

THOU   HIDDEN   LOVE   OF   GOD. 

{Fro?ji  the  Gennan.) 

'^  I  "HOU  hidden  love  of  God,  whose  height, 
-^       Whose  depth  unfathomed,  no  man  knows, 
I  see  from  far  thy  beauteous  Hght, 

Inly  I  sigh  for  thy  repose  ; 
My  heart  is  pained,  nor  can  it  be 
At  rest,  till  it  find  rest  in  thee. 

Thy  secret  voice  invites  me  still 

The  sweetness  of  thy  yoke  to  prove  ; 

And  fain  I  would,  but,  though  my  will 
Seem  fixed,  yet  wide  my  passions  rove ; 

Yet  hindrances  strew  all  the  way,  — 

I  aim  at  thee,  yet  from  thee  stray. 

'Tis  mercy  all,  that  thou  hast  brought 
My  mind  to  seek  its  peace  in  thee  ; 

Yet  while  I  seek  but  find  thee  not. 

No  peace  my  wandering  soul  shall  see : 

Oh,  when  shall  all  my  wanderings  end. 

And  all  my  steps  to  Jesus  tend  ! 

What  is  there  more  that  hinders  me 
From  entering  to  thy  promised  rest, 

Abiding  there  substantially. 
And  being  permanently  blest  ? 

O  Love,  mine  inmost  soul  expose. 

And  every  hindrance  now  disclose  ! 


sojvgs  of  love.  459 

Is  there  a  thing  beneath  the  sun 

That  strives  with  thee  my  heart  to  share  ? 

Ah  I  tear  it  thence  and  reign  alone 
The  Lord  of  every  motion  there. 

Then  shall  my  heart  from  earth  be  free, 

When  it  hath  found  repose  in  thee. 

Tell  me,  O  God,  if  aught  there  be 
Of  self  that  wills  not  thy  control ; 

Reveal  whate'er  impurity 

May  still  be  lurking  in  my  soul : 

To  reach  thy  rest  and  share  thy  throne, 

Mine  eyes  must  look  to  thee  alone. 

Each  moment  draw  from  earth  away 
My  heart,  that  lowly  waits  thy  call ; 

Speak  to  mine  inmost  soul,  and  say, 
"  I  am  thy  Love,  thy  God,  thy  All." 

To  feel  thy  power,  to  hear  thy  voice, 

To  taste  thy  love,  be  all  my  choice. 

1731.  Tersteegen. 


COME,   O   THOU   TRAVELLER   UNKNOWN. 

/^^OME,  O  thou  Traveller  unknown, 
^-^     Whom  still  I  hold,  but  cannot  see ! 
My  company  before  is  gone, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  thee  : 
With  thee  all  night  I  mean  to  stay. 
And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 


460  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  need  not  tell  thee  who  I  am, 

My  misery  and  sin  declare  ; 
Thyself  hath  called  me  by  my  name  : 

Look  on  thy  hands  and  read  it  there. 
But  who,  I  ask  thee,  who  art  thou  ? 
Tell  me  thy  name,  and  tell  me  now. 

In  vain  thou  strugglest  to  get  free, 
I  never  will  unloose  my  hold  : 

Art  thou  the  Man  that  died  for  me  ? 
The  secret  of  thy  love  unfold. 

Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  thee  go, 

Till  I  thy  name,  thy  nature,  know. 

Wilt  thou  not  yet  to  me  reveal 
Thy  new,  unutterable  name  } 

Tell  me,  I  still  beseech  thee,  tell ; 
To  know  it  now,  resolved  I  am  : 

Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  thee  go. 

Till  I  thy  name,  thy  nature,  know. 

'Tis  all  in  vain  to  hold  thy  tongue, 
Or  touch  the  hollow  of  my  thigh  ; 

Though  every  sinew  be  unstrung. 
Out  of  my  arms  thou  shalt  not  fly  : 

Wrestling,  I  will  not  let  thee  go, 

Till  I  thy  name,  thy  nature,  know. 

What  though  my  shrinking  flesh  complain 
And  murmur  to  contend  so  long .? 

I  rise  superior  to  my  pain  ; 

When  I  am  weak,  then  I  am  strong : 

And,  when  my  all  of  strength  shall  fail, 

I  shall  with  the  God-Man  prevail. 


sojvgs  of  love.  46] 

My  strength  is  gone  ;  my  nature  dies  ; 

I  sink  beneath  thy  weighty  hand, 
Faint  to  revive,  and  fall  to  rise  ; 

I  fall,  and  yet  by  faith  I  stand  : 
I  stand,  and  will  not  let  thee  go. 
Till  I  thy  name,  thy  nature,  know. 

Yield  to  me  now,  for  I  am  weak, 

But  confident  in  self-despair  ; 
Speak  to  my  heart,  in  blessings  speak, 

Be  conquered  by  my  instant  prayer  ! 
Speak,  or  thou  never  hence  shalt  move. 
And  tell  me  if  thy  name  is  Love. 

'Tis  Love  !  'tis  Love  !  thou  diedst  for  me  ! 

I  hear  thy  whisper  in  my  heart ! 
The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee  ; 

Pure,  universal  love  thou  art ! 
To  me,  to  all,  thy  bowels  move ! 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love ! 

My  prayer  hath  power  with  God  ;  the  grace 

Unspeakable  I  now  receive  ; 
Through  faith  I  see  thee  face  to  face, 

I  see  thee  face  to  face,  and  live  : 
In  vain  I  have  not  wept  and  strove  ; 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 

I  know  thee,  Saviour,  who  thou  art,  — 
Jesus,  the  feeble  sinner's  Friend  ! 

Nor  wilt  thou  with  the  night  depart, 
But  stay,  and  love  me  to  the  end ! 

Thy  mercies  never  shall  remove  ; 

Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love  ! 


-0 — H^ 


4H — 0 0 — I* 

462  SOAVS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

The  Sun  of  righteousness  on  me 

Hath  rose,  with  heaUng  in  his  wings  ; 

Withered  my  nature's  strength,  from  thee 
My  soul  its  Ufe  and  succor  brings  ; 

My  help  in  all  laid  up  above : 

Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 

Contented  now,  upon  my  thigh 

I  halt  till  life's  short  journey  end  ; 
All  helplessness,  all  weakness,  I 

On  thee  alone  for  strength  depend  ; 
Nor  have  I  power  from  thee  to  move ; 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 

Lame  as  I  am,  I  take  the  prey ; 

Hell,  earth,  and  sin  with  ease  o'ercome ; 
I  leap  for  joy,  pursue  my  way, 

And,  as  a  bounding  hart,  fly  home  : 
Through  all  eternity  to  prove, 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 

X740.  Charles  Wesley. 


JESUS,   WHOSE   NAME   THE   ANGEL   HOSTS. 
{Jesu,  decus  angelic7c?H.) 

JESUS,  whose  name  the  angel  hosts 
Unceasing  praise  above, 
Not  all  the  joys  our  being  boasts 
Can  move  us  like  thy  love. 


ipl  < 0   .i.ip. 

SOJVGS  OF  LOVE.  463 

To  thee  our  fainting  spirits  cry : 

When  wilt  thou  show  thy  face ! 
Oh,  when  our  longings  satisfy, 

And  fill  us  with  thy  grace ! 

We  sinners,  Lord,  with  earnest  heart, 

With  sighs  and  prayers  and  tears, 
To  thee  our  inmost  cares  impart, 

Our  burdens  and  our  fears. 

Thy  sovereign  grace  can  give  relief. 

Thou  Source  of  peace  and  light  ; 
Dispel  the  gloomy  cloud  of  grief. 

And  make  our  darkness  bright. 

Around  thy  Father's  throne  on  high, 

All  heaven  thy  glory  sings  ; 
And  earth,  for  which  thou  cam'st  to  die, 

Loud  with  thy  praises  rings. 

Dear  Lord,  to  thee  our  prayers  ascend  ; 

Our  eyes  thy  face  would  see  : 
Oh  let  our  weary  wanderings  end. 

Our  spirits  rest  in  thee  ! 

1153.  St.  Bernard,  trans,  by  Prof.  Dunn. 


REST,   WEARY    SON   OF   GOD. 

"D  EST,  weary  Son  of  God !  and  I,  with  thee, 
-"-^     Rest  in  that  rest  of  thine  : 
My  weariness  was  thine,  thou  barest  it, 
And  now  thy  rest  is  mine. 


4^4  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Rest,  weary  Son  of  God  !  we  joy  to  think 

That  all  thy  toil  is  done  ; 
No  ache,  no  pang,  no  sigh  for  thee  again : 

Thy  joy  is  now  begun. 

Thy  life  on  earth  was  one  sad  weariness  ; 

Nowhere  to  lay  thy  head  : 
Thy  days  were  toil  and  heat ;  thy  lonely  nights 

Sought  some  cold  mountain-bed. 

How  calmly  in  that  tomb  thou  liest  now ! 

Thy  rest,  how  still  and  deep ! 
O'er  thee  in  love  the  Father  rests  :  he  gives. 

To  his  beloved,  sleep. 

On  Bethel-pillow  now  thy  head  is  laid. 

In  Joseph's  rock-hewn  cell ; 
Thy  watchers  are  the  angels  of  thy  God  : 

They  guard  thy  slumber  well. 

With  thee  thy  God  and  Father  still  abides, 

And  thou  art  not  alone : 
He  in  that  still,  dark  chamber  is  with  thee, 

The  well-beloved  Son. 

Oh,  silent,  silent  is  thine  earthly  tomb ! 

The  raging  of  thy  foes 
Is  ended  all !     Nor  Jew  nor  Roman  now 

Can  ruffle  thy  repose. 

Rest,  weary  Son  of  God !  thy  work  is  done. 

And  all  thy  burdens  borne  ; 
Rest  on  that  stone,  till  the  third  sun  has  brought 

Thine  everlasting  morn. 


^— W: 

SONGS  OF  LOVE.  4^5 

Then  to  a  higher,  brighter,  truer  rest, 

Upon  the  throne  above. 
Rise,  weary  Son  of  man,  to  carry  out 

Thy  glorious  work  of  love ! 

1868.  HORATIUS   BONAR. 


LOST,   BUT   FOUND. 


"  Arte  mira,  miro  consilio, 
Quserens  ovem  suam  summus  opilio, 
Ut  nos  revocaret  ab  exilio." 

Old  Hymn. 

T  WAS  a  wandering  sheep, 

■'■     I  did  not  love  the  fold  ; 

I  did  not  love  my  Shepherd's  voice, 

I  would  not  be  controlled. 
I  was  a  wayward  child, 

I  did  not  love  my  home  ; 
I  did  not  love  my  Father's  voice, 

I  loved  afar  to  roam. 

The  Shepherd  sought  his  sheep, 

The  Father  sought  his  child  ; 
They  followed  me  o'er  vale  and  hill, 

O'er  deserts  waste  and  wild. 
They  found  me  nigh  to  death, 

Famished,  and  faint,  and  lone  ; 
They  bound  me  with  the  bands  of  love, 

They  saved  the  wandering  one ! 

Jesus  my  Shepherd  is, 

'Twas  he  that  loved  my  soul, 

'Twas  he  that  washed  me  in  his  blood, 
'Twas  he  that  made  me  whole. 
30 


•qil.    «- 

466  SO.YGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

'Twas  he  that  sought  the  lost, 
That  found  the  wandering  sheep ; 

'Twas  he  that  brought  me  to  the  fold, 
'Tis  he  that  still  doth  keep. 

I  was  a  wandering  sheep, 

I  would  not  be  controlled  ; 
But  now  I  love  my  Shepherd's  voice, 

I  love,  I  love  the  fold  ! 
I  was  a  wayward  child, 

I  once  preferred  to  roam  ; 
But  now  I  love  my  Father's  voice, 

I  love,  I  love  his  home  ! 

1857.  HORATIUS   BONAR 


NONE  IN  HEAVEN  BUT  THEE. 


T    ORD  of  earth  !  thy  bounteous  hand 

-■— ^     Well  this  glorious  frame  hath  planned 

Woods  that  wave,  and  hills  that  tower. 

Ocean  rolling  in  his  power. 

All  that  strikes  the  gaze  unsought, 

All  that  charms  the  lonely  thought  ; 

Friendship,  gem  transcending  price  ; 

Love,  a  flower  of  Paradise  : 

Yet,  amid  this  scene  so  fair, 

Should  I  cease  thy  smile  to  share, 

What  were  all  its  joys  to  me ! 

Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee ! 


y.m.     « 0— iW 

SONGS  OF  LOVE.  A^7 

Lord  of  heaven !  beyond  our  sight 
Rolls  a  world  of  purer  light ; 
There,  in  Love's  unclouded  reign, 
Parted  hands  shall  join  again  ; 
Martyrs  there,  and  prophets  high, 
Blaze,  a  glorious  company  ; 
While  immortal  music  rings 
From  unnumbered  seraph-strings  : 
Oh,  that  scene  is  passing  fair  ! 
Yet  should'st  thou  be  absent  there, 
What  were  all  its  joys  to  me ! 
Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ! 

Lord  of  earth  and  heaven  !  my  breast 
Seeks  in  thee  its  only  rest ! 
I  was  lost :  thy  accents  mild 
Homeward  lured  thy  wandering  child. 
I  was  blind  :  thy  healing  ray 
Charmed  the  long  eclipse  away. 
Source  of  every  joy  I  know. 
Solace  of  my  every  woe  ; 
Yet  should  once  thy  smile  divine 
Cease  upon  my  soul  to  shine, 
What  were  heaven  or  earth  to  me  ! 
Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee ! 

1839.  Sir  Robert  Grant. 

JESUS,   THESE   EYES    HAVE   NEVER    SEEN. 

TESUS,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 
^      That  radiant  form  of  thine  ; 
The  veil  of  sense  hangs  dark  between 
Thy  blessed  face  and  mine. 


^ 

468  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  see  thee  not,  I  hear  thee  not, 

Yet  art  thou  oft  with  me  ; 
And  earth  hath  ne'er  so  dear  a  spot 

As  where  I  meet  with  thee. 

Like  some  bright  dream  that  comes  unsought, 

When  slumbers  o'er  me  roll, 
Thine  image  ever  fills  my  thought. 

And  charms  my  ravished  soul. 

Yet  though  I  have  not  seen,  and  still 

Must  rest  in  faith  alone, 
I  love  thee,  dearest  Lord,  and  will, 

Unseen,  but  not  unknown. 

When  death  these  mortal  eyes  shall  seal, 
And  still  this  throbbing  heart. 

The  rending  veil  shall  thee  reveal. 
All  glorious  as  thou  art. 

1858.  Ray  Palmer. 


THEE  WILL   I   LOVE. 
{From  the  German?) 

nPHEE  will  I  love,  my  strength  and  tower 
-*-       Thee  will  I  love,  my  joy  and  crown ; 
Thee  will  I  love  with  all  my  power. 
In  all  my  works,  and  thee  alone : 
Thee  will  I  love  till  that  pure  fire 
Fills  all  my  soul  with  strong  desire. 

In  darkness  willingly  I  strayed  ; 

I  sought  thee,  yet  from  thee  I  roved  ; 


^S-^ 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  4^9 

For  wide  my  wandering  thoughts  were  spread, 

Thy  creatures  more  than  thee  I  loved : 
And  now,  if  more  at  length  I  see, 
'Tis  through  thy  light,  and  comes  from  thee. 

I  thank  thee,  uncreated  Sun, 

That  thy  bright  beams  on  me  have  shined  ; 
I  thank  thee,  who  hast  overthrown 

My  foes,  and  healed  my  wounded  mind  ; 
I  thank  thee,  whose  enlivening  voice 
Bids  my  freed  heart  in  thee  rejoice. 

Uphold  me  in  the  doubtful  race, 

Nor  suffer  me  again  to  stray  ; 
Strengthen  my  feet  with  steady  pace 

Still  to  press  forward  in  thy  way  ; 
My  soul  and  flesh,  O  Lord  of  might. 
Fill,  satiate,  with  thy  heavenly  light ! 

Give  to  mine  eyes  refreshing  tears  ; 

Give  to  my  heart  chaste,  hallowed  fires  ; 
Give  to  my  soul,  with  filial  fears, 

The  love  that  all  heaven's  host  inspires. 
That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  might. 
In  thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

Thee  will  I  love,  my  joy,  my  crown  ; 

Thee  will  I  love,  my  Lord,  my  God ; 
Thee  will  I  love,  beneath  thy  frown 

Or  smile,  thy  sceptre  or  thy  rod. 
What  though  my  heart  and  flesh  decay } 
Thee  shall  I  love  in  endless  day. 

Brbithaupt. 


4Ett— 0- 


470  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


O    LOVE,    WHO    FORMEDST    ME   TO    WEAR. 
(^Liebe  die  du  niich  so  7nilde?) 

r~\  LOVE,  who  formedst  me  to  wear 
^^  The  image  of  thy  Godhead  here  ; 
Who  soughtest  me  with  tender  care, 

Through  all  my  wanderings  wild  and  drear,  — • 
O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee, 
Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be ! 

O  Love,  who,  ere  life's  earliest  dawn, 
On  me  thy  choice  hast  gently  laid  ; 

O  Love,  who  here  as  man  wast  born, 
And  like  to  us  in  all  things  made,  — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee. 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 

O  Love,  who  once  in  time  wast  slain. 

Pierced  through  and  through  with  bitter  woe  ; 

O  Love,  who  wrestling  thus  didst  gain 
That  we  eternal  joy  might  know, — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee. 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 

O  Love,  of  whom  is  truth  and  light, 
The  word  and  spirit,  life  and  power, 

Whose  heart  was  bared  to  them  that  smite, 
To  shield  us  in  our  trial-hour,  — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee. 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  4/1 

O  Love,  who  thus  hast  bound  me  fast 
Beneath  that  gentle  yoke  of  thine  ; 

Love,  who  hast  conquered  me  at  last, 
And  rapt  away  this  heart  of  mine,  — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee, 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 

O  Love,  who  lovest  me  for  aye. 
Who  for  my  soul  dost  ever  plead  ; 

O  Love,  who  didst  my  ransom  pay, 
Whose  power  sufficeth  in  my  stead,  — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee. 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 

O  Love,  who  once  shall  bid  me  rise 
From  out  this  dying  life  of  ours  ; 

O  Love,  who  once  above  yon  skies 

Shalt  set  me  in  the  fadeless  bowers,  — 

O  Love,  I  give  myself  to  thee. 

Thine  ever,  only  thine,  to  be  ! 

1657.  Angelus  Silesius. 


JESUS,   THOU   JOY   OF   LOVING   HEARTS. 

{yesu,  dulcedo  cordium.) 

TESUS,  thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts  ! 
^      Thou  Fount  of  life  !     Thou  Light  of  men  ! 
From  the  best  bliss  that  earth  imparts, 
We  turn  unfilled  to  thee  again. 

Thy  truth  unchanged  hath  ever  stood  ; 

Thou  savest  those  that  on  thee  call ; 
To  them  that  seek  thee  thou  art  good ; 

To  them  that  find  thee,  all  in  all ! 


472  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

We  taste  thee,  O  thou  living  Bread, 
And  long  to  feast  upon  thee  still ! 

We  drink  of  thee,  the  Fountain-head, 
And  thirst  our  souls  from  thee  to  fill ! 

Our  restless  spirits  yearn  for  thee. 
Where'er  our  changeful  lot  is  cast ; 

Glad  when  thy  gracious  smile  we  see, 
Blest  when  our  faith  can  hold  thee  fast. 

O  Jesus,  ever  with  us  stay ! 

Make  all  our  moments  calm  and  bright ! 
Chase  the  dark  night  of  sin  away, 

Shed  o'er  the  world  thy  holy  light ! 

1153.  St.  Bernard,  trans,  by  Ray  Palmer, 


LOVE   DIVINE,    ALL   LOVES   EXCELLING. 

T    OVE  Divine,  all  loves  excelling, 
-'-^     Joy  of  heaven,  to  earth  come  down, 
,  Fix  in  us  thy  humble  dwelling, 

All  thy  faithful  mercies  crown. 
Jesus,  thou  art  all  compassion. 

Pure,  unbounded  love  thou  art : 
Visit  us  with  thy  salvation. 

Enter  every  trembling  heart. 

Breathe,  oh  breathe  thy  loving  spirit 

Into  every  troubled  breast ! 
Let  us  all  in  thee  inherit, 

Let  us  find  that  second  rest. 


SOJVGS  OF  LOVE.  4/3 

Take  away  the  love  of  sinning  ; 

Alpha  and  Omega  be  : 
End  of  faith,  as  its  beginning, 

Set  our  hearts  at  liberty. 

Come,  Almighty  to  deliver  ! 

Let  us  all  thy  life  receive  ; 
Suddenly  return,  and  never. 

Nevermore  thy  temples  leave. 
Then  we  would  be  always  blessing, 

Serve  thee  as  thy  host  above  ; 
Pray,  and  praise  thee  without  ceasing, 

Glory  in  thy  perfect  love. 

Finish  thou  thy  new  creation  : 

Pure  and  spotless  let  us  be  ; 
Let  us  see  thy  great  salvation. 

Perfectly  secured  by  thee. 
Changed  from  glory  unto  glory. 

Till  in  heaven  we  take  our  place. 
Till  we  cast  our  crowns  before  thee, 

Lost  in  wonder,  love,  and  praise  ! 

1746.  Charles  Wesley. 


THE   LOVE   OF   GOD. 

{Fro7n  the  German  >j 

'TPHOU  Love  Divine,  encircling  all, 

-*-       A  soundless,  shoreless  sea. 
Wherein  at  last  our  souls  shall  fall, 
O  love  of  God  most  free  ! 


474  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

When  over  dizzy  heights  we  go, 
One  soft  hand  bUnds  our  eyes, 

The  other  leads  us  safe  and  slow, 
O  love  of  God  most  wise ! 

And  though  we  turn  us  from  thy  face. 
And  wander  wide  and  long, 

Thou  hold'st  us  still  in  thine  embrace, 
O  love  of  God  most  strong ! 

The  saddened  heart,  the  restless  soul, 
The  toil-worn  frame  and  mind, 

Alike  confess  thy  sweet  control, 
O  love  of  God  most  kind  ! 

But  not  alone  thy  care  we  claim, 
Our  wayward  steps  to  win  : 

We  know  thee  by  a  dearer  name, 
O  love  of  God  within  ! 

And,  filled  and  quickened  by  thy  breath. 
Our  souls  are  strong  and  free 

To  rise  o'er  sin,  and  fear,  and  death, 
O  love  of  God,  to  thee  ! 


I     GIVE     MY     HEART     TO     THEE. 

{Cor  7neiim  tibi  dedo,  Jesti  dulcisswie.) 

T    GIVE  my  heart  to  thee, 
-*-     O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 
And  heart  for  heart  the  gift  shall  be. 
For  thou  my  soul  hast  fired  : 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  47 S 

Thou  hearts  alone  would'st  move  ; 
Thou  only  hearts  dost  love. 
I  would  love  thee  as  thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 

What  offering  can  I  make, 
Dear  Lord,  to  love  like  thine  ? 
That  thou,  the  God,  didst  stoop  to  take, 
A  human  form  like  mine ! 
"  Give  me  thy  heart,  my  son  ;  " 
Behold  my  heart !  'tis  done  : 
I  would  love  thee  as  thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 

Thy  heart  is  opened  wide. 
Its  offered  love  most  free, 
That  heart  to  heart  I  may  abide, 
And  hide  myself  in  thee. 
Ah,  how  thy  love  doth  burn 
Till  I  that  love  return  ! 
I  would  love  thee  as  thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 

Here  finds  my  heart  its  rest, 
Repose  that  knows  no  shock. 
The  strength  of  love  that  keeps  it  blest. 
In  thee,  the  riven  Rock, 
My  soul,  as  girt  around. 
Her  citadel  hath  found. 
I  would  love  thee  as  thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 

Trans,  by  Ray  Palmes. 


476  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

JESU,   THE   VERY   THOUGHT   OF   THEE. 

{yesu,  dulcis  memoria.') 

TESU,  the  very  thought  of  thee 
^      With  sweetness  fills  the  breast ; 
But  sweeter  far  thy  face  to  see, 
And  in  thy  presence  rest. 

No  voice  can  sing,  no  heart  can  frame, 

Nor  can  the  memory  find 
A  sweeter  sound  than  Jesu's  name, 

The  Saviour  of  mankind. 

O  hope  of  every  contrite  heart, 

O  joy  of  all  the  meek, 
To  those  who  fall  how  kind  thou  art, 

How  good  to  those  who  seek  ! 

But  what  to  those  who  find  ?     Ah  !  this 
Nor  tongue  nor  pen  can  show ; 

The  love  of  Jesus,  what  it  is, 
None  but  his  loved  ones  know. 

Jesu,  our  only  joy  be  thou. 

As  thou  our  prize  wilt  be  : 
In  thee  be  all  our  glory  now. 

And  through  eternity. 

iiSj,  St.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  trans,  by  Edward  Caswall. 


r«Jffr-0- 


SONGS  OF  LOVE.  477 


'TIS    HE  !    'TIS    HE  !    I    KNOW   HIM    NOW. 

''HniS  he  !  'tis  he  !  I  know  him  now, 
-^       By  the  red  scars  upon  his  brow, 
His  wounded  hands,  and  feet,  and  side, 
My  Lord  !  my  God  !  the  crucified  ! 

Those  hands  have  rolled  the  stone  away ; 
Those  feet  have  trod  the  path  to-day  ; 
And  round  that  brow  triumphant  shine 
The  rays  of  majesty  divine. 

Oh,  from  those  hands  uplifted  shed 
Thy  blessing  on  my  fainting  head  ; 
And,  as  I  clasp  those  feet,  impart 
The  love  that  gushed  out  from  thy  heart ! 

Thy  death  upon  the  cross  be  mine, 
My  life  from  mortal  sin  be  thine. 
And  mine  the  way  thy  feet  have  trod. 
To  reign  in  heaven  with  thee,  my  God  ! 

George  W.  Bethunh, 


JESUS,   I   LOVE  THEE. 
{O  Deus,  ego  amo  ie.) 

TESUS,  I  love  thee,  —  not  because 
^      I  hope  for  heaven  thereby. 
Nor  yet  because,  if  I  love  not, 
I  must  for  ever  die  : 


478 


«S5a- 


SOA^GS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  love  thee,  Saviour  dear,  and  still 

I  ever  will  love  thee. 
Solely  because  my  God  thou  art, 

Who  first  hast  loved  me. 

For  me  to  lowest  depth  of  woe 

Thou  didst  thyself  abase  ; 
For  me  didst  bear  the  cross  and  shame, 

And  manifold  disgrace ; 

For  me  didst  suffer  pains  unknown, 

Blood-sweat  and  agony, 
Yea,  death  itself,  —  all,  all  for  me, 

Who  was  thine  enemy. 

Then  why,  O  blessed  Saviour  mine. 
Should  I  not  love  thee  well  ?  — 

Not  for  the  sake  of  winning  heaven, 
Nor  of  escaping  hell ; 

Not  with  the  hope  of  gaining  aught, 

Nor  seeking  a  reward  ; 
But  freely,  fully,  as  thyself 

Hast  loved  me,  O  Lord  ! 

Even  so  I  love  thee,  and  will  love, 

And  in  thy  praise  will  sing. 
Solely  because  thou  art  my  God 

And  my  eternal  King ! 

St.  Franos  Xavihr. 


^»fF-o- 


-0— «H 


SO2VGS  OF  LOVE,  479 

THE   LOVE   OF   GOD. 
(From  the  Provengal.) 

A  LL  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass 
•^  -^     away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for 

aye; 
The  forms  of  men  shall  be  as  they  had  never  been  ; 
The  blasted  groves  shall  lose  their  fresh  and  tender 

green  ; 
The  birds  of  the  thicket  shall  end  their  pleasant  song. 
And  the  nightingale  shall  cease  to  chant  the  evening 

long. 

The  kine  of  the  pasture  shall  feel  the  dart  that  kills, 
And  all  the  fair  white  flocks  shall  perish  from  the 

hills  ; 
The  goat  and  antlered  stag,  the  wolf  and  the  fox. 
The  wild-boar  of  the  wood,  and  the  chamois  of  the 

rocks. 
And  the  strong  and  fearless  bear,  in  the  trodden  dust 

shall  lie  ; 
And  the  dolphin  of  the  sea  and  the  mighty  whale 

shall  die. 

And  realms  shall  be  dissolved,  and  empires  be  no 

more. 
And  they  shall  bow  to  Death,  who  ruled  from  shore  to 

shore ; 


♦ 


-»■ 


aye  ! 


Bernakd  Rascas,  trans,  by  W.  C.  Bryant. 


m-^ — 0— ft: 

480  SO  JVC  S  OF  THE  SOUL. 

And  the  great  globe  itself,  —  so  the  holy  writings 

tell,  — 
With  the  rolling  firmament,  where  the  starry  armies 

dwell. 
Shall  melt  with  fervent  heat,  they  shall  all  pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for 


H»4--0 — ■ ____ ^^_^^ 


riH— »■ 


■^-^h 


SONGS 


PRAISE     AND     THANKSGIVING. 


3^ 


-«— fi^J 


^hJT-O^ 0— fih 


SONGS    OF   PRAISE  AND  THANKS- 
GIVING. 


y>«<^ 


SOUND   THE   LOUD   TIMBREL. 

O  OUND  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea : 
^^     Jehovah  has  triumphed,  —  his  people  are  free  ! 
Sing !  for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is  broken  : 

His  chariot  and  horsemen  all  splendid  and  brave, 
How  vain  was  their  boasting  !    the   Lord  hath  but 
spoken, 

And  chariot  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the  wave ! 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  : 
Jehovah  has  triumphed,  —  his  people  are  free  ! 

Praise  to  the  Conqueror !  praise  to  the  Lord ! 

His  word  was  our  arrow,  his  breath  was  our  sword  ! 

Who  shall  return  to  tell  Egypt  the  story 

Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pride  ! 
For  the  Lord  hath  looked  out  from  his  pillar  of  glory, 

And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dashed  in  the  tide. 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  : 
Jehovah  has  triumphed,  —  his  people  are  free  ! 

1816.  Thomas  Moore. 


484  SONGS   OF    THE  SOUL. 


BEGIN,    MY    SOUL,   THE   EXALTED    LAY. 

TI)  EGIN,  my  soul,  the  exalted  lay  ; 
-*-^     Let  each  enraptured  thought  obey, 

And  praise  the  Almighty's  name  ; 
Lo,  heaven  and  earth,  and  seas  and  skies,. 
In  one  melodious  concert  rise, 

To  swell  the  inspiring  theme ! 

Ye  fields  of  light,  celestial  plains, 
Where  gay,  transporting  beauty  reigns, 

Ye  scenes  divinely  fair  ; 
Your  Maker's  wondrous  power  proclaim. 
Tell  how  he  formed  your  shining  frame. 

And  breathed  the  fluid  air ! 

Ye  angels,  catch  the  thrilling  sound, 
While  all  the  adoring  thrones  around 

His  boundless  mercy  sing  ; 
Let  every  listening  saint  above 
Wake  all  the  tuneful  soul  of  love. 

And  touch  the  sweetest  string ! 

Join,  ye  loud  spheres,  the  vocal  choir ; 
Thou  dazzling  orb  of  liquid  fire, 

The  mighty  chorus  aid  ; 
Soon  as  gay  evening  gilds  the  plain. 
Thou  moon,  protract  the  melting  strain, 

And  praise  him  in  the  shade ! 

Let  every  element  rejoice ! 

Ye  thunders,  burst  with  awful  voice 


^-^\ 


mr-0 0—H* 

SOA'GS   OF  PRAISE   AND    THANKSGIVING.    485 

To  Him  who  bids  you  roll ! 
His  praise  in  softer  notes  declare, 
Each  whispering  breeze  of  yielding  air, 

And  breathe  it  to  the  soul. 

Let  man,  for  nobler  service  made. 
The  feeling  heart,  the  judging  head, 

In  heavenly  praise  employ  : 
Spread  his  tremendous  name  around. 
Till  heaven's  broad  arch  rings  back  the  sound, 

The  general  burst  of  joy ! 

Ye  whom  the  charms  of  grandeur  please. 
Nursed  on  the  downy  lap  of  ease, 

Fall  prostrate  at  his  throne  ; 
Ye  princes,  rulers,  all  adore  ; 
Praise  him,  ye  kings,  who  makes  your  power 

An  image  of  his  own  ! 

Let  youth  its  ardent  passions  move. 
To  praise  the  eternal  Source  of  love. 

With  all  its  hallowed  fire : 
Let  age  take  up  the  tuneful  lay. 
Sigh  his  blest  name,  then  soar  away, 

And  ask  an  angel's  lyre ! 

Let  saints  redeemed  from  death  and  hell, 
In  louder,  loftier  numbers  tell 

The  wonders  of  his  grace  ; 
Beyond  creation's  utmost  bounds. 
Above  her  noblest,  sweetest  sounds, 

Declare  Jehovah's  praise ! 

Ogilvie. 

<^ 

-0 ■ 0-   ' 


486  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


SONG   OF   PRAISE. 

'T^O  God,  ye  choir  above,  begin 
-*-       A  hymn  so  loud  and  strong. 
That  all  the  universe  may  hear 
And  join  the  grateful  song. 

Praise  him,  thou  sun,  who  dwells  unseen 

Amidst  transcendent  light, 
Where  thy  refulgent  orb  would  seem 

A  spot  as  dark  as  night. 

Thou  silver  moon,  ye  host  of  stars, 

The  universal  song 
Through  the  serene  and  silent  night 

To  listening  worlds  prolong. 

Sing  him,  ye  distant  worlds  and  suns, 
From  whence  no  travelling  ray 

Hath  yet  to  us,  through  ages  past. 
Had  time  to  make  its  way. 

Assist,  ye  raging  storms,  and  bear 

On  rapid  wings  his  praise, 
From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west. 

Through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  seas. 

Fxert  your  voice,  ye  furious  fires 

That  rend  the  watery  cloud, 
And  thunder  to  this  nether  world 

Your  Maker's  words  aloud. 


SOA'GS   OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     487 


Ye  works  of  God,  that  dwell  unknown 

Beneath  the  rolling  main  ; 
Ye  birds,  that  sing  among  the  groves, 

And  sweep  the  azure  plain  ; 

Ye  stately  hills,  that  rear  your  heads, 

And,  towering,  pierce  the  sky ; 
Ye  clouds,  that  with  an  awful  pace 

Majestic  roll  on  high  ; 

Ye  insects  small,  to  which  one  leaf 

Within  its  narrow  sides 
A  vast  extended  world  displays. 

And  spacious  realms  provides  ; 

Ye  race,  still  less  than  these,  with  which 

The  stagnant  water  teems. 
To  which  one  drop,  however  small, 

A  boundless  ocean  seems,  — 

Whate'er  ye  are,  where'er  ye  dwell, 

Ye  creatures  great  or  small. 
Adore  the  wisdom,  praise  the  power, 

That  made  and  governs  all. 

And  if  ye  want  or  sense  or  sounds. 

To  swell  the  grateful  noise. 
Prompt  mankind  with  that  sense,  and  they 

Shall  find  for  you  a  voice. 

From  all  the  boundless  realms  of  space 

Let  loud  hosannas  sound  ; 
Loud  send,  ye  wondrous  works  of  God, 

The  grateful  concert  round. 

1784.  Philip  Skelton. 


-0 — H^ 


4^8  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


HYMN    IN   THE   VALE   OF   CHAMOUNIX. 

A  WAKE,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
^  ^     Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy  !     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song  !     Awake,  my  heart,  awake  ! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 

Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovran  of  the  vale ! 
Oh,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night. 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink ! 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Coherald  !     Wake,  oh  wake,  and  utter  praise  ! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  Hght  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad  ! 

Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 

From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 

For  ever  shattered,  and  the  same  for  ever  ? 

Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 

Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam  ? 

And  who  commanded,  —  and  the  silence  came,  — 

Here  let  the  billows  stiffen  and  have  rest  ? 

Ye  ice-falls  !  ye  that  from  the  mountains'  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain  — 


■ — 0— f* 

SOAGS  OF  PRAISE   AXD    THANKSGIVING.     489 

Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven. 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?     Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?     Who  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ? 
God  !  let  the  torrents  like  a  shout  of  nations 
Answer !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God  ! 
God  !  sing,  ye  meadow  streams,  with  gladsome  voice  ! 
Ye  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds  ! 
And  they  too  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow. 
And,  in  their  perilous  fall,  shall  thunder,  God  ! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost ! 
Ye  wild  goats,  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest ! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm  ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements  ! 
Utter  forth  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise ! 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridgb. 

THERE  IS  A  BOOK,  WHO  RUNS  MAY  READ. 

'T^HERE  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read, 

-■-       Which  heavenly  truth  imparts. 
And  all  the  lore  its  scholars  need, 
Pure  eyes  and  Christian  hearts. 

The  works  of  God  above,  below, 

Within  us,  and  around, 
Are  pages  in  that  book,  to  show 

How  God  himself  is  found. 


% 


-0— H» 


490  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

The  glorious  sky,  embracing  all, 

Is  like  the  Maker's  love, 
Wherewith  encompassed,  great  and  small 

In  peace  and  order  move. 

The  moon  above,  the  Church  below, 

A  wondrous  race  they  run, 
But  all  their  radiance,  all  their  glow, 

Each  borrows  of  its  sun. 

The  Saviour  lends  the  light  and  heat 

That  crowns  his  holy  hill ; 
The  saints,  like  stars,  around  his  seat, 

Perform  their  courses  still. 

The  saints  above  are  stars  in  heaven : 
What  are  the  saints  on  earth  ? 

Like  trees  they  stand  whom  God  has  given 
Our  Eden's  happy  birth. 

Faith  is  their  fixed,  unswerving  root ; 

Hope,  their  unfading  flower  ; 
Fair  deeds  of  charity,  their  fruit, 

The  glory  of  their  bower. 

The  dew  of  heaven  is  like  thy  grace ; 

It  steals  in  silence  down  ; 
But  where  it  lights,  the  favored  place 

By  richest  fruits  is  known. 

One  Name,  above  all  glorious  names, 
With  its  ten  thousand  tongues. 

The  everlasting  sea  proclaims. 
Echoing  angelic  songs. 


-<> — H* 


0— +f: 

SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     49^ 

The  raging  fire,  the  roaring  wind, 

Thy  boundless  power  display  ; 
But  in  the  gentle  breeze  we  find 

Thy  Spirit's  viewless  way. 

Two  worlds  are  ours  :  'tis  only  sin 

Forbids  us  to  descry 
The  mystic  heaven  and  earth  within, 

Plain  as  the  sea  and  sky. 

Thou  who  hast  given  me  eyes  to  see. 

And  love  this  sight  so  fair, 
Give  me  a  heart  to  find  out  thee. 

And  read  thee  everywhere. 

1827.  John  Keblb, 


SINCE   O'ER   THY   FOOTSTOOL. 

OINCE  o'er  thy  footstool  here  below 
^^     Such  radiant  gems  are  strown, 
Oh,  what  magnificence  must  glow. 

My  God,  about  thy  throne  ! 
So  brilliant  here  these  drops  of  light. 
There  the  full  ocean  rolls,  how  bright ! 

If  night's  blue  curtain  of  the  sky. 
With  thousand  stars  inwrought. 

Hung  like  a  royal  canopy 

With  glittering  diamonds  fraught. 

Be,  Lord,  thy  temple's  outer  veil, 

What  splendor  at  the  shrine  must  dwell ! 


%" 

49-  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

The  dazzling  sun  at  noontide  hour, 

Forth  from  his  flaming  vase, 
Flinging  o'er  earth  the  golden  shower, 

Till  vale  and  mountain  blaze, 
But  shows,  O  Lord,  one  beam  of  thine  : 
What,  then,  the  day  where  thou  dost  shine ! 

Ah  !  how  shall  these  dim  eyes  endure 

That  noon  of  living  rays. 
Or  how  my  spirit  so  impure 

Upon  thy  brightness  gaze  ? 
Anoint,  O  Lord,  anoint  my  sight, 
And  robe  me  for  that  world  of  light ! 

1824.  W.  A.  Muhlenberg. 


THOU   ART,    O    GOD,   THE    LIFE   AND    LIGHT. 

nPHOU  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light 
-*-       Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  ; 
Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

When  day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven,  — 

Those  hues,  that  mark  the  sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant.  Lord,  are  thine. 


-0 — \\\ 


# 


SOiVGS   OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     493 

When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes,  — 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine. 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord,  are  thine. 

When  youthful  spring  around  us  breathes. 
Thy  spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh  ; 

And  every  flower  the  summer  wreathes 
Is  born  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine. 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

1830.  Thomas  Moorb. 


THE   SPACIOUS   FIRMAMENT   ON    HIGH. 

'^  I  ^HE  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
-*-       With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame. 
Their  great  Original  proclaim. 
The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 
Does  his  Creator's  power  display. 
And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail. 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  Ustening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 


494  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings,  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  no  real  voice  or  sound 
Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice. 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
"  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine  !  " 

1712.  Joseph  Addison. 


THE   STAR   OF   BETHLEHEM. 

WHEN,  marshalled  on  the  nightly  plain, 
The  glittering  host  bestud  the  sky. 
One  star  alone  of  all  the  train 

Can  fix  the  sinner's  wandering  eye : 
Hark  !  hark !  to  God  the  chorus  breaks, 

From  every  host,  from  every  gem, 
But  one  alone  the  Saviour  speaks,  — 
It  is  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  ! 

Once  on  the  raging  seas  I  rode : 

The  storm  was  loud  ;   the  night  was  dark ; 
The  ocean  yawned,  and  rudely  blowed 

The  wind  that  tossed  my  foundering  bark. 


tH — 0- 


SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND   THANKSGIVING.     495 

Deep  horror  then  my  vitals  froze ; 

Death-struck,  I  ceased  the  tide  to  stem  ; 
When  suddenly  a  star  arose,  — 

It  was  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  ! 

It  was  my  guide,  my  Hght,  my  all ; 

It  bade  my  dark  forebodings  cease  ; 
And  through  the  storm  and  danger's  thrall. 

It  led  me  to  the  port  of  peace. 
Now  safely  moored,  my  perils  o'er, 

I'll  sing,  first  in  night's  diadem, 
For  ever  and  for  ever  more. 

The  Star,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  ! 

1806.  Henry  Kirke  White. 


LORD,   THOU   ART   GREAT. 

{Fro/n  the  German.^ 

"  T    ORD,  thou  art  great ! "  I  cry,  when  in  the  east 
-■-^     The  day  is  blooming  like  a  rose  of  fire  ; 

When,  to  partake  anew  of  life's  rich  feast. 
Nature  and  man  awake  with  fresh  desire. 

When  art  thou  seen  more  gracious,  God  of  power, 

Than  in  the  morn's  great  resurrection  hour ! 

"  Lord,  thou  art  great !  "  I  cry,  when  blackness  shrouds 
The   noonday   heavens,    and    crinkling    lightnings 
flame, 

And  on  the  tablet  of  the  thunder-clouds 
In  fiery  letters  write  thy  dreadful  name. 

When  art  thou.  Lord,  more  terrible  in  wrath, 

Than  in  the  mid-day  tempest's  lowering  path ! 


r«H— ^ 


496  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

"  Lord,  thou  art  great !  "  I  cry,  when  in  the  west 
Day,  softly  vanquished,  shuts  his  glowing  eye ; 

When  song-feasts  ring  from  every  woodland  nest. 
And  all  in  melancholy  sweetness  die. 

When  giv'st  thou,  Lord,  our  hearts  more  blest  repose 

Than  in  the  magic  of  thy  evening  shows  ! 

*'  Lord,  thou  art  great ! "  I  cry,  at  dead  of  night. 
When  silence  broods  alike  on  land  and  deep  ; 

When  stars  go  up  and  down  the  blue-arched  height, 
And  on  the  silver  clouds  the  moonbeams  sleep. 

When  beckonest  thou,  O  Lord,  to  loftier  heights 

Than  in  the  silent  praise  of  holy  nights  ! 

"  Lord,  thou  art  great !  "  in  nature's  every  form  ; 

Greater  in  none,  —  simply  most  great  in  all ; 
In  tears  and  terrors,  sunshine,  smile,  and  storm. 

And  all  that  stirs  the  heart,  is  felt  thy  call. 
"  Lord,  thou  art  great ! "  oh  let  me  praise  thy  name, 
And  grow  in  greatness  as  I  thine  proclaim  ! 

1650.  Seidl. 


WHEN    ALL   THY   MERCIES,    O    MY   GOD. 

"IT  7HEN  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 

^  ^     My  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view  I'm  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

Oh,  how  shall  words  of  equal  warmth 

The  gratitude  declare 
That  glows  within  my  ravished  heart ! 

But  thou  canst  read  it  there. 


hh — fr- 


i.qil.    «        

SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     497 

To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries 

Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 
Ere  yet  my  feeble  thoughts  had  learnt 

To  form  themselves  in  prayer. 

Unnumbered  comforts  to  my  soul 

Thy  tender  care  bestowed, 
Before  my  infant  heart  conceived 

From  whom  those  comforts  flowed. 

When  in  the  slippery  paths  of  youth 

With  heedless  steps  I  ran, 
Thine  arm,  unseen,  conveyed  me  safe, 

And  led  me  up  to  man. 

Through  hidden  dangers,  toils,  and  deaths, 

It  gently  cleared  my  way. 
And  through  the  pleasing  snares  of  vice. 

More  to  be  feared  than  they. 

When  worn  with  sickness,  oft  hast  thou 

With  health  renewed  my  face, 
And,  when  in  sin  and  sorrow  sunk. 

Revived  my  soul  with  grace. 

Thy  bounteous  hand  with  worldly  bliss 

Has  made  my  cup  run  o'er. 
And  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend 

has  doubled  all  my  store. 

Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 

My  daily  thanks  employ. 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart 

That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy. 
32 


^«— ^- 


49^  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Through  every  period  of  my  life 

Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue, 
And,  after  death,  in  distant  worlds 

The  glorious  theme  renew. 

When  nature  fails,  and  day  and  night 

Divide  thy  works  no  more, 
My  ever-grateful  heart,  O  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  shall  adore  ! 

Through  all  eternity  to  thee 

A  joyful  song  I'll  raise  ; 
For  oh  !  eternity's  too  short 

To  utter  all  thy  praise  ! 

X712.  Joseph  Addison. 


HOW   SHOULD    I    PRAISE   THEE,    LORD! 

T  TOW  should  I  praise  thee,  Lord!  how  should  my 
-^  -*-         rhymes 

Gladly  engrave  thy  love  on  steel, 
If  what  my  soul  doth  feel  sometimes, 

My  soul  might  ever  feel ! 

Although  there  were  some  fourtie  heavens,  or  more. 

Sometimes  I  peere  above  them  all ; 
Sometimes  I  hardly  reach  a  score. 

Sometimes  to  hell  I  fall. 

O  rack  me  not  to  such  a  vast  extent  I 

Those  distances  belong  to  thee : 
The  world's  too  little  for  thy  tent, 

A  grave  too  big  for  me. 


SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.      499 

Wilt  thou  meet  arms  with  man,  that  thou  dost  stretch 
A  crumme  of  dust  from  heaven  to  hell  ? 

Will  great  God  measure  such  a  wretch  ? 
Shall  he  thy  stature  spell  ? 

O  let  me,  when  thy  roof  my  soul  hath  hid, 

O  let  me  roost  and  nestle  there  ! 
Then  of  a  sinner  thou  art  rid, 

And  I  of  hope  and  fear. 

Yet  take  thy  way  ;  for  sure  thy  way  is  best : 
Stretch  or  contract  me,  thy  poore  debtor  ; 

This  is  but  tuning  of  my  breast, 
To  make  the  musick  better. 

Whether  I  flie  with  angels,  fall  with  dust, 
Thy  hands  made  both,  and  I  am  there ; 

Thy  power  and  love,  my  love  and  trust. 
Make  one  place  everywhere. 

1632.  Gborge  Herbbrt. 


PRAISE. 

T^ING  of  glorie,  King  of  peace, 
-"-^      I  will  love  thee  ; 
And  that  love  may  never  cease, 
I  will  move  thee. 

Thou  hast  granted  my  request. 
Thou  hast  heard  me  : 

Thou  didst  note  my  working  breast, 
Thou  hast  spared  me. 


%" 

500  SOA'GS   or   THE   SOUL. 

Wherefore  with  my  utmost  art 

I  will  sing  thee, 
And  the  cream  of  all  my  heart 

I  will  bring  thee. 

Though  my  sinnes  against  me  cried, 

Thou  didst  clear  me  ; 
And  alone,  when  they  replied, 

Thou  didst  heare  me. 

Seven  whole  dayes,  not  one  in  seven, 

I  will  praise  thee  ; 
In  my  heart,  though  not  in  heaven, 

I  can  raise  thee. 

Thou  grew'st  soft  and  moist  with  tears, 

Thou  relentedst ; 
And,  when  Justice  called  for  fears. 

Thou  dissentedst. 

Small  it  is,  in  this  poore  sort, 

To  enroll  thee : 
Even  eternitie  is  too  short 

To  extoll  thee. 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


HAPPY   THE    MAN    WHOSE   HOPES    RELY. 

T  TAPPY  the  man  whose  hopes  rely 
-*-  -*-     On  Israel's  God  ;  he  made  the  sky 

And  earth  and  seas,  with  all  their  train  : 
His  truth  for  ever  stands  secure  ; 
He  saves  the  oppressed,  he  feeds  the  poor  ; 

And  none  shall  find  his  promise  vain. 


SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     501 

The  Lord  hath  eyes  to  give  the  blind  ; 
The  Lord  supports  the  sinking  mind  ; 

He  sends  the  laboring  conscience  peace ; 
He  helps  the  stranger  in  distress, 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 

And  grants  the  prisoner  sweet  release. 

I'll  praise  him  while  he  lends  me  breath. 
And,  when  my  voice  is  lost  in  death. 

Praise  shall  employ  my  nobler  powers  ; 
My  days  of  praise  shall  ne'er  be  past, 
While  life  and  thought  and  being  last, 

Or  immortality  endures. 

1719.  Isaac  Watts. 


PRAISE. 

T^ING  of  comforts  !  King  of  life  ! 
-'-^     Thou  hast  cheered  me  ; 
And,  when  fears  and  doubts  were  rife. 
Thou  hast  cleared  me. 

Not  a  nook  in  all  my  breast 

But  thou  fill'st  it ; 
Not  a  thought  that  breaks  my  rest, 

But  thou  kill'st  it. 

Wherefore  with  my  utmost  strength 

I  will  praise  thee  ; 
And,  as  thou  giv'st  line  and  length, 

I  will  raise  thee. 


-0 — HJ 


50^2  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Day  and  night,  not  once  a  day, 

I  will  blesse  thee  ; 
And,  my  soul  in  new  array, 

I  will  dresse  thee. 

Not  one  minute  in  the  year 

But  I'll  mind  thee  ; 
As  my  seal  and  bracelet  here 

I  will  bind  thee. 

In  thy  word,  as  if  in  heaven, 

I  will  rest  me  ; 
And  thy  promise,  till  made  even, 

There  shall  feast  me. 

Then  thy  sayings  all  my  life 

There  shall  please  me  ; 
And  thy  bloody  wounds  and  strife 

They  will  ease  me. 

With  thy  grones  my  daily  breath 

I  will  measure ; 
And  my  life,  hid  in  thy  death, 

I  will  treasure. 

1654.  Henry  Vaughan. 


HAIL,   KINGLY   JESUS! 

T  TAIL,  kingly  Jesus  !  to  thy  feet 
-^  ■*■     Our  hearts  their  tribute  bring ; 
Not  sparkling  gold,  not  odors  sweet, 
But  love,  our  offering. 


-0 — Hf 


SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     503 

Such  treasures  to  thy  manger-bed 

The  ancient  Magi  brought, 
When,  by  the  star  resplendent  led, 

Judea's  King  they  sought. 

But  hearts  of  humble  poverty 

Are  fairer  in  thine  eyes, 
And  penitence  is  more  to  thee 

Than  costly  sacrifice. 

When  thou  wert  sitting  once  at  meat, 

And,  kneeling  humbly  there. 
With  tears  a  sinner  bathed  thy  feet. 

And  wiped  them  with  her  hair  ; 

As  over  them  she  poured  perfume, 

Amid  her  tears  like  rain, 
Till  the  sweet  odor  filled  the  room. 

Thou  didst  not  her  disdain. 

And  wilt  thou,  Master,  from  our  hymn 

Turn  scornfully  thine  ear  ? 
Nay !  'mid  the  songs  of  seraphim 

Our  worship  thou  wilt  hear. 

1864.  A.  R.  Thompson. 


LIFE'S   PRAISE. 

"piLL  thou  my  life,  O  Lord,  my  God, 
-*-        In  every  part  with  praise. 
That  my  whole  being  may  proclaim 
Thy  being  and  thy  ways. 


504  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Not  for  the  lip  of  praise  alone, 
Nor  even  the  praising  heart, 

I  ask,  but  for  a  life  made  up 
Of  praise  in  every  part. 

Praise  in  the  common  things  of  life, 

Its  goings  out  and  in, 
Praise  in  each  duty,  and  each  deed, 

However  small  and  mean. 

Praise  in  the  common  words  I  speak, 
Life's  common  looks  and  tones. 

In  intercourse  at  hearth  or  board. 
With  my  beloved  ones. 

Not  in  the  temple-crowd  alone. 
Where  holy  voices  chime. 

But  in  the  silent  paths  of  earth, 
The  quiet  rooms  of  time. 

Upon  the  bed  of  weariness, 
With  fevered  eye  and  brain  ; 

Or  standing  by  another's  couch. 
Watching  the  pulse  of  pain. 

Enduring  wrong,  reproach,  or  loss, 
With  sweet  and  steadfast  will  ; 

Loving  and  blessing  those  who  hate, 
Returning  good  for  ill. 

Surrendering  my  fondest  will 
In  things  or  great  or  small, 

Seeking  the  good  of  others  still. 
Nor  pleasing  self'  at  all. 


-6—4^1^ 


SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     505 

Fill  every  part  of  me  with  praise  ; 

Let  all  my  being  speak 
Of  thee,  and  of  thy  love,  O  Lord, 

Poor  though  I  be,  and  weak ! 

So  shalt  thou,  Lord,  from  me,  even  me, 

Receive  the  glory  due, 
And  so  shall  I  begin  on  earth 

The  song  for  ever  new. 

So  shall  each  fear,  each  fret,  each  care. 

Be  turned  into  song  ; 
And  every  winding  of  the  way 

The  echo  shall  prolong. 

So  shall  no  part  of  day  or  night 

From  sacredness  be  free, 
But  all  my  life,  in  every  step, 

Be  fellowship  with  thee. 

1856.  HORATIUS    BONAR. 


SOME    MURMUR   WHEN    THEIR   SKY    IS    CLEAR. 

O  OME  murmur  when  their  sky  is  clear 
^^     And  wholly  bright  to  view, 
If  one  small  speck  of  dark  appear 

In  their  great  heaven  of  blue  : 
And  some  with  thankful  love  are  filled. 

If  but  one  streak  of  light. 
One  ray  of  God's  good  mercy,  gild 

The  darkness  of  their  night. 


506  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

In  palaces  are  hearts  that  ask, 

In  discontent  and  pride, 
Why  Hfe  is  such  a  dreary  task. 

And  all  good  things  denied  : 
And  hearts  in  poorest  huts  admire 

How  Love  has  in  their  aid. 
Love  that  not  ever  seems  to  tire. 

Such  rich  provision  made  ! 

1856.  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 


A   THANKSGIVING. 

{Brennende  Liebe,  du  heilige  Fla?njne.') 

'T^HOU  burning  Love,  thou  holy  Flame, 

-■-       O  thou  my  God  and  Lord, 
Thou  hast  preserved  me  by  thy  name, 

When  terrors  were  abroad  ; 
Thou  helpest  us  in  worst  distress, 

If  we  but  cling  to  thee, 
Wherefore,  my  God,  no  bitterness 

Shall  ever  make  me  flee. 

Ah  !  I  can  never  praise  enough 

The  goodness  thou  hast  shown  ! 
When  days  were  dark,  and  storms  were  rough, 

Thou  mad'st  thy  kindness  known ; 
Thy  miracles  of  goodness  then 

Thou  sufferedst  me  to  see ; 
O  Bread  of  Life  !  my  heart  again 

Cries,  let  me  cling  to  thee ! 


-0 — Hi 


fH— 0- 


i%-< 0— S 


SOA'GS   OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     SO? 

Thee  I  desire,  to  thee  I  cleave, 

To  thee  I  will  be  true ; 
As  opes  the  floweret  to  receive 

The  May-time's  quickening  dew, 
So,  in  the  time  of  grief  and  woe, 

Opens  my  heart  to  thee. 
And  feels  anew  a  living  glow. 

For  thou  consolest  me. 

Ah  !  though  I  lived  a  thousand  years, 

And  spake  with  thousand  tongues, 
I  could  not  tell  with  w^ords  nor  tears 

What  praise  to  thee  belongs. 
Ah,  no !  it  never  can  be  told. 

Not  even,  my  God,  to  thee, 
How  rich  the  gifts,  how  manifold. 

That  thou  hast  showered  on  me ! 

This  only,  O  my  God,  I  pray, 

Thy  spirit  may  abide 
In  me,  and  keep  me  in  thy  way, 

My  comfort  and  my  guide. 
Let  nothing  evil  reign  within, 

Thine  angels  send  to  me. 

Let  me  escape  all  snares  of  sin. 

And  lead  me  home  to  thee ! 
1563. 


5C<3  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 


HIS    HOLY    SPIRIT    DWELLETH. 

(/.(■/  Gott  fur  7nich  so  trete.) 

TTIS  Holy  Spirit  dwelleth 
-*"  -^     Within  my  willing  heart, 
Tames  it  when  it  rebelleth, 

And  soothes  the  keenest  smart. 
He  crowns  his  work  with  blessing, 

And  helpeth  me  to  cry 
''  My  Father  !  "  without  ceasing 

To  Him  who  dwells  on  high. 

And  when  my  soul  is  lying 

Weak,  trembling,  and  opprest, 
He  pleads  with  groans  and  sighing 

That  cannot  be  exprest ; 
But  God's  quick  eye  discerns  them, 

Although  they  give  no  sound, 
And  into  language  turns  them. 

Even  in  the  heart's  deep  ground. 

To  mine,  his  spirit  speaketh 

Sweet  words  of  soothing  power, 
How  God,  to  him  that  seeketh 

For  rest,  hath  rest  in  store. 
There  God  himself  prepareth 

My  heritage  and  lot. 
And  though  my  body  weareth, 

My  heaven  shall  fail  me  not. 

'656.  Paul  Gerhardt. 


SONGS   OF  PRAISE   AND    THANKSGIVING.      509 


O   LOVING   ONE!    O   BOUNTEOUS   ONE! 

r~\  LOVING  One  !  O  bounteous  One  ! 
^^     What  have  I  not  received  from  thee, 
Throughout  the  seasons  that  have  gone 
Into  the  past  eternity  ? 

Lowly  my  name,  and  mine  estate  ; 

Yet,  Father,  many  a  child  of  thine. 
Of  purer  heart  and  cleaner  hands, 

Walks  in  a  humbler  path  than  mine. 

And,  looking  backward  through  the  year, 
Along  the  way  my  feet  have  pressed, 

I  see  sweet  places  everywhere, 

Sweet  places  where  my  soul  had  rest. 

For  though  some  human  hopes  of  mine 
Are  dead  and  buried  from  my  sight, 

Yet  from  their  graves  immortal  flowers 
Have  sprung  and  blossomed  into  light. 

Body,  and  heart,  and  soul  have  been 
Fed  by  the  most  convenient  food  ; 

My  nights  are  peaceful  all  the  while, 
And  all  my  mortal  days  are  good. 

My  sorrows  have  not  been  so  light, 

Thy  chastening  hand  I  could  not  trace ; 

Nor  have  my  blessings  been  so  great 
That  they  have  hid  my  Father's  face. 


0 — m 

510  SONGS   OF  THE  SOUL. 


THANKFULNESS. 


iy  TY  God,  I  thank  thee  who  hast  made 
^^     The  earth  so  bright ; 
So  full  of  splendor  and  of  joy, 

Beauty  and  light  ; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here 

Noble  and  right ! 

I  thank  thee,  too,  that  thou  hast  made 

Joy  to  abound  ; 
So  many  gentle  thoughts  and  deeds 

Circling  us  round, 
That  in  the  darkest  spot  of  earth 

Some  love  is  found. 

I  thank  thee  more  that  all  our  joy 

Is  touched  with  pain  ; 
That  shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours  ; 

That  thorns  remain  ; 
So  that  earth's  bliss  may  be  our  guide. 

And  not  our  chain. 

For  thou  who  knowest.  Lord,  how  soon 

Our  weak  heart  clings, 
Hast  given  us  joys,  tender  and  true, 

Yet  all  with  wings, 
So  that  we  see  gleaming  on  high 

Diviner  things ! 


SOA'GS  OF  PRAISE  AND   THANKSGIVING.     5^1 

I  thank  thee,  Lord,  that  thou  hast  kept 

The  best  in  store  ; 
We  have  enough,  yet  not  too  much 

To  long  for  more  : 
A  yearning  for  a  deeper  peace 

Not  known  before. 

I  thank  thee,  Lord,  that  here  our  souls, 

Though  amply  blest. 
Can  never  find,  although  they  seek, 

A  perfect  rest,  — 
Nor  ever  shall,  until  they  lean 

On  Jesus'  breast ! 

1858.  Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


MY   BLESSINGS. 


f~^  REAT  waves  of  plenty  rolling  up 
^-^     Their  golden  billows  to  our  feet. 
Fields  where  the  ungathered  rye  is  white, 
Or  heavy  with  the  yellow  wheat ; 

Wealth  surging  inward  from  the  sea, 
And  plenty  through  our  land  abroad, 

With  sunshine  resting  over  all, 
That  everlasting  smile  of  God ! 

For  these,  yet  not  for  these  alone. 
My  tongue  its  gratitude  would  say : 

All  the  great  blessings  of  my  life 
Are  present  in  my  thought  to-day. 


mr-^ ■■ 0—1* 

512  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

For  more  than  all  my  mortal  wants 
Have  been,  O  God,  thy  full  supplies  : 

Health,  shelter,  and  my  daily  bread, 
For  these  my  grateful  thanks  arise. 

For  ties  of  faith,  whose  wondrous  strength 

Time  nor  eternity  can  part  ; 
For  all  the  words  of  love  that  fall 

Like  living  waters  on  my  heart ; 

For  even  that  fearful  strife  where  sin 
Was  conquered  and  subdued  at  length. 

Temptations  met  and  overcome, 

Whereby  my  soul  has  gathered  strength  ; 

For  all  the  warnings  that  have  come 

From  mortal  agony  or  death  ; 
For  even  that  bitterest  storm  of  life 

Which  drove  me  on  the  rock  of  faith. 

For  all  the  past  I  thank  thee,  God  ! 

And,  for  the  future,  trust  in  thee, 
Whate'er  of  trial  or  blessing  yet. 

Asked  or  unasked,  thou  hast  for  me. 

Yet  only  this  one  boon  I  crave,  — 
After  life's  brief  and  fleeting  hour, 

Make  my  beloved  thy  beloved, 
And  keep  us  in  thy  day  of  power. 

Phcebe  Gary. 


— *— I* 

SONGS  OF  PRAISE  AND   THANKSGIVING.     513 


TREMBLING   BEFORE   THINE  AWFUL   THRONE. 

npREMBLING  before  thine  awful  throne, 

-^       O  Lord,  in  dust  my  sins  I  own  : 
Justice  and  Mercy  for  my  hfe 
Contend  !  —  oh  smile,  and  heal  the  strife ! 

The  Saviour  smiles  !   upon  my  soul 
New  tides  of  hope  tumultuous  roll : 
His  voice  proclaims  my  pardon  found, 
Seraphic  transport  wings  the  sound  ! 

Earth  has  a  joy  unknown  in  heaven,  — 
The  new-born  peace  of  sin  forgiven ! 
Tears  of  such  pure  and  deep  delight. 
Ye  angels,  never  dimmed  your  sight. 

Ye  saw,  of  old,  on  chaos  rise, 
The  beauteous  pillars  of  the  skies  ; 
Ye  know  where  morn  exulting  springs. 
And  evening  folds  her  drooping  wings. 

Bright  heralds  of  the  eternal  will, 
Abroad  his  errands  ye  fulfil ; 
Or,  throned  in  floods  of  beamy  day, 
Symphonious  in  his  presence  play. 

Loud  is  the  song,  —  the  heavenly  plain 
Is  shaken  with  the  choral  strain  ; 
And  dying  echoes,  floating  far, 
Draw  music  from  each  chiming  star. 
33 


SH  SOiYGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

But  I  amid  your  choirs  shall  shine, 
And  all  your  knowledge  shall  be  mine  ; 
Ye  on  your  harps  must  lean  to  hear 
A  secret  chord  that  mine  will  bear ! 

1816.  A.    L.     HlLLHOUSE. 


OH  COULD  I  SPEAK  THE  MATCHLESS  WORTH  ! 

/^H  could  I  speak  the  matchless  worth, 
^^     Oh  could  I  sound  the  glories  forth, 

Which  in  my  Saviour  shine  ! 
I'd  soar,  and  touch  the  heavenly  strings, 
And  vie  with  Gabriel,  while  he  sings 

In  notes  almost  divine. 

I'd  sing  the  precious  blood  he  spilt, 
My  ransom  from  the  dreadful  guilt 

Of  sin  and  wrath  divine  : 
I'd  sing  his  glorious  righteousness, 
In  which  all-perfect,  heavenly  dress 

My  soul  shall  ever  shine. 

I'd  sing  the  characters  he  bears. 
And  all  the  forms  of  love  he  wears, 

Exalted  on  his  throne  : 
In  loftiest  songs  of  sweetest  praise, 
I  would  to  everlasting  days 

Make  all  his  glories  known. 

Well,  the  delightful  day  will  come, 
When  my  dear  Lord  will  bring  me  home, 


SONGS   OF  PRAISE  AND    THANKSGIVING.     5^5 

And  I  shall  see  his  face : 
Then  with  my  Saviour,  Brother,  Friend, 
A  blest  eternity  I'll  spend, 

Triumphant  in  his  grace. 

,3oQ_  Samuel  Medley. 


WHEN   THIS   PASSING  WORLD   IS    DONE. 

WHEN  this  passing  world  is  done, 
When  has  sunk  yon  glaring  sun, 
When  we  stand  with  Christ  in  glory. 
Looking  o'er  life's  finished  story, 
Then,  Lord,  shall  I  fully  know  — 
Not  till  then  —  how  much  I  owe  ! 

When  I  hear  the  wicked  call 
On  the  rocks  and  hills  to  fall, 
When  I  see  them  start  and  shrink 
On  the  fiery  deluge  brink, 
Then,  Lord,  shall  I  fully  know  — 
Not  till  then  —  how  much  I  owe  ! 

When  I  stand  before  the  throne. 
Dressed  in  beauty  not  my  own  ; 
When  I  see  thee  as  thou  art. 
Love  thee  with  unsinning  heart,  — 
Then,  Lord,  shall  I  fully  know  — 
Not  till  then  —  how  much  I  owe  ! 

When  the  praise  of  heaven  I  hear, 
Loud  as  thunder  to  the  ear, 


L^^4— 0- 


5l6  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Loud  as  many  waters'  noise, 
Sweet  as  harp's  melodious  voice, 
Then,  Lord,  shall  I  fully  know  — 
Not  till  then  —  how  much  I  owe  ! 

Even  on  earth,  as  through  a  glass, 
Darkly  let  thy  glory  pass, 
Make  forgiveness  feel  so  sweet, 
Make  thy  spirit's  help  so  meet,  — 
Even  on  earth.  Lord,  make  me  know 
Something  of  how  much  I  owe ! 

Chosen  not  for  good  in  me. 
Wakened  up  from  wrath  to  flee, 
Hidden  in  the  Saviour's  side, 
By  the  Spirit  sanctified  ! 
Teach  me,  Lord,  on  earth  to  show 
By  my  love  how  much  I  owe ! 

Oft  I  walk  beneath  the  cloud, 
Dark  as  midnight's  gloomy  shroud  ; 
But,  when  fear  is  at  the  height, 
Jesus  comes,  and  all  is  light. 
Blessed  Jesus  !  bid  me  show 
Doubting  saints  how  much  I  owe ! 

When  in  flowery  paths  I  tread, 

Oft  by  sin  I'm  captive  led  ; 

Oft  I  fall,  but  still  arise  ; 

The  Spirit  comes,  —  the  tempter  flies  ; 

Blessed  Spirit !  bid  me  show 

Weary  sinners  all  I  owe ! 


'■\\\ — 0- 


—0-4*: 

SOA'GS  OF  PRAISE  AND   THANKSGIVING.     517 

Oft  the  nights  of  sorrow  reign, 
Weeping,  sickness,  sighing,  pain : 
But  a  night  thine  anger  burns  ; 
Morning  comes,  and  joy  returns. 
God  of  comforts  !  bid  me  show 
To  thy  poor  how  much  I  owe ! 

1843.  Robert  McCheyne. 


MY  SOUL   DOTH   MAGNIFY  THE   LORD. 

1\ /TY  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord, 

IMl.     ]y[y  spirit  doth  rejoice 

In  God,  my  Saviour  and  my  God  ; 

I  hear  his  joyful  voice. 
I  need  not  go  abroad  for  joy. 

Who  have  a  feast  at  home  ; 
My  sighs  are  turned  into  songs, 

The  Comforter  is  come. 

Down  from  above  the  blessed  Dove 

Is  come  into  my  breast, 
To  witness  God's  eternal  love. 

This  is  my  heavenly  feast. 
This  makes  me  Abba  Father !  cry 

With  confidence  of  soul ; 
It  makes  me  cry.  My  Lord,  my  God  ! 

And  that  without  control. 

There  is  a  stream  which  issues  forth 

From  God's  eternal  throne 
And  from  the  Lamb  ;  a  living  stream, 

Clear  as  the  crystal  stone. 


<H— »- 


0— t* 

518  SO.VGS  OF   THE   SOUL. 

The  stream  doth  water  Paradise, 

It  makes  the  angels  sing : 
One  cordial  drop  revives  my  heart ; 

Hence  all  my  joys  do  spring. 

Such  joys  as  are  unspeakable, 

And  full  of  glory  too  ; 
Such  hidden  manna,  hidden  pearls. 

As  worldlings  do  not  know. 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  hath  heard. 

From  fancy  'tis  concealed, 
What  thou,  Lord,  hast  laid  up  for  thine. 

And  hast  to  me  revealed. 

I  see  thy  face  !  I  hear  thy  voice  ! 

I  taste  thy  sweetest  love ! 
My  soul  doth  leap,  but  oh  for  wings ! 

The  wings  of  Noah's  dove ! 
Then  should  I  flee  far  hence  away. 

Leaving  this  world  of  sin  : 
Then  should  my  Lord  put  forth  his  hand. 

And  kindly  take  me  in. 

Then  should  my  soul  with  angels  feast 

On  joys  that  always  last : 
Blest  be  my  God,  the  God  of  joy, 

That  gives  me  here  a  taste  ! 

1683.  John  Mason. 


*H— 0- 


■0 — M» 


SONGS    OF    PATIENCE. 


iM — »- 


-0— Hi: 


SONGS    OF    PATIENCE. 


THE   ANGEL   OF   PATIENCE. 

nnO  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes, 
-■"      God's  meekest  angel  gently  comes. 
No  power  has  he  to  banish  pain, 
Or  give  us  back  our  lost  again  ; 
And  yet,  in  tenderest  love,  our  dear 
And  heavenly  Father  sends  him  here. 

There's  quiet  in  that  angel's  glance ; 

There's  rest  in  his  still  countenance ; 

He  mocks  no  grief  with  idle  cheer. 

Nor  wounds  with  words  the  mourner's  ear  ; 

But  ills  and  woes  he  may  not  cure 

He  kindly  trains  us  to  endure. 

Angel  of  patience,  sent  to  calm 
Our  feverish  brows  with  cooling  balm  ; 
To  lay  the  storms  of  hope  and  fear, 
And  reconcile  life's  smile  and  tear  ; 
The  throbs  of  wounded  grief  to  still, 
And  make  our  own  our  Father's  will ! 

O  thou  who  mournest  on  thy  way. 
With  longings  for  the  close  of  day, 


522  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

He  walks  with  thee,  that  angel  kind, 
And  gently  whispers,  "  Be  resigned. 
Bear  up,  bear  on,  the  end  shall  tell 
The  dear  Lord  ordereth  all  things  well." 

1846.  John  G.  Whittiiir, 


GOD'S   RESTRAINT. 

T  STRUCK  the  board,  and  cried,  "  No  more  ; 
-^  I  will  abroad. 

What  .-*  shall  I  ever  sigh  and  pine  ? 
My  lines  and  life  are  free,  free  as  the  road  ; 
Loose  as  the  wind,  as  large  as  store. 

Shall  I  be  still  in  suit  "i 
Have  I  no  harvest  but  a  thorn 
To  let  me  blood,  and  not  restore 
What  I  have  lost  with  cordial  fruit  .'* 

Sure  there  was  wine, 
Before  my  sighs  did  dry  it :  there  was  corn, 
Before  my  tears  did  drown  it. 
Is  the  year  only  lost  to  me } 
Have  I  no  bays  to  crown  it } 
No  flowers,  no  garlands  gay  "i  all  blasted .? 
All  wasted .? 
Not  so,  my  heart ;  but  there  is  fruit, 
And  thou  hast  hands. 
Recover  all  thy  sigh-blown  age 
On  double  pleasures.     Leave  thy  cold  dispute 
Of  what  is  fit ;  and  not  forsake  thy  cage, 
Thy  rope  of  sands. 


m-^^ 0  .l^j 

SONGS   OF  PATIENCE.  523 

Which  petty  thoughts  have  made,  and  made  to  thee 
Good  cable  to  enforce  and  draw, 

And  be  thy  law, 
Whilst  thou  didst  wink  and  wouldst  not  see. 
Away  ;  take  heed  : 
I  will  abroad. 
Call  in  thy  death's  head  there  ;  tie  up  thy  fears. 
He  that  forbears 
To  suit  and  serve  his  need. 
Deserves  his  load." 
But,  as  I  raved,  and  grew  more  fierce  and  wild 
At  every  word, 
Methought  I  heard  one  calling,  "  Child  ! " 
And  I  replied,  "  My  Lord  ! " 

1632.  George  Herbert. 


I 


THE  VOICE   CALLING. 

N  the  hush  of  April  weather. 

With  the  bees  in  budding  heather, 
And  the  white  clouds  floating,  floating,  and  the  sun- 
shine falling  broad  ; 
While  my  children  down  the  hill 
Run  and  leap,  and  I  sit  still, 
Through  the  silence,  through  the  silence  art  thou  call- 
ing, O  my  God  ? 

Through  my  husband's  voice  that  prayeth. 
Though  he  knows  not  what  he  sayeth. 
Is  it  thou  who,  in  thy  holy  Word,  hast  solemn  words 
for  me  ? 


:ith^ 


5^4  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

And  when  he  clasps  me  fast, 
And  smiles  fondly  o'er  the  past, 
And  talks  hopeful  of  the  future,  Lord,  do  I  hear  only 
thee  ? 

Not  in  terror  nor  in  thunder 
Comes  thy  voice,  although  it  sunder 
Flesh  from  spirit,  soul  from  body,  human  bHss  from 
human  pain  ; 
All  the  work  that  was  to  do. 
All  the  joys  so  sweet  and  new. 
Which  thou  shewdst  me  in  a  vision,  Moses-like,  and 
hidst  again. 

From  this  Pisgah,  lying  humbled. 
The  long  desert  where  I  stumbled, 
And  the  fair  plains  I  shall  never  reach,  seem  equal, 
clear  and  far : 
On  this  mountain-top  of  ease 
Thou  wilt  bury  me  in  peace  ; 
While  my  tribes  march  onward,  onward  unto  Canaan 
and  to  war. 

In  my  boy's  loud  laughter  ringing. 
In  the  sigh  more  soft  than  singing 
Of   my  baby  girl   that  nestles  up  unto  this  mortal 
breast. 
After  every  voice  most  dear. 
Comes  a  whisper,  "  Rest  not  here." 
And  the  rest  thou  art  preparing,  is  it  best,  Lord,  is  it 
best  ? 


-O^fi 


SONGS  OF  PATIENCE.  525 

Lord,  a  little,  little  longer ! 
Sobs  the  earth-love,  growing  stronger  : 
He  will  miss  me,  and  grow  mourning  through  his  soli- 
tary days. 
And  heaven  were  scarcely  heaven, 
If  these  lambs  that  thou  hast  given 
Were  to  slip  out  of  our  keeping,  and  be  lost  in  the 
world's  ways. 

Lord,  it  is  not  fear  of  dying. 
Nor  an  impious  denying 
Of  thy  will,  which  evermore  on  earth,  in  heaven,  be 
done ; 
But  a  love  that  desperate  clings 
Unto  these,  my  precious  things. 
In  the  beauty  of  the  daylight,  and  the  glory  of  the 
sun. 

Ah  !  thou  still  art  calling,  calling, 
With  a  soft  voice  unappalling  ; 
And  it  vibrates  in  far  circles  through  the  everlasting 
years  ; 
When  thou  knockest,  even  so  ! 
I  will  arise  and  go  ! 
What,  my  little  ones,  more  violets  ?  nay,  be  patient ; 
mother  hears  ! 

1858.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch. 


0-H* 

526  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL, 


DE   PROFUNDIS. 

T)  Y  anguish  which  made  pale  the  sun, 
^^     I  hear  him  charge  his  saints,  that  none 
Among  his  creatures  anywhere 
Blaspheme  against  him  with  despair, 
However  darkly  days  go  on. 

Take  from  my  head  the  thorn-wreath  brown  ! 
No  mortal  grief  deserves  that  crown. 

0  supreme  Love,  chief  Misery, 
The  sharp  regalia  are  for  thee, 
Whose  days  eternally  go  on  ! 

For  us,  whatever's  undergone. 
Thou  knowest,  wiliest,  what  is  done. 
Grief  may  be  joy  misunderstood  ; 
Only  the  good  discerns  the  good. 

1  trust  thee  while  my  days  go  on. 

Whatever's  lost,  it  first  was  won  : 

We  will  not  struggle  nor  impugn. 

Perhaps  the  cup  was  broken  here. 

That  heaven's  new  wine  might  show  more  clear. 

I  praise  thee  while  my  days  go  on. 

I  praise  thee  while  my  days  go  on  ; 

I  love  thee  while  my  days  go  on. 

Through  dark  and  dearth,  through  fire  and  frost, 

With  emptied  arms  and  treasure  lost, 

I  thank  thee  while  my  days  go  on. 


L^rt— 0- 


— — 0 — HP: 

SONGS   OF  PATIENCE.  S^7 

And  having  in  thy  Hfe-depth  thrown 
Being  and  suffering  (which  are  one), 
As  a  child  drops  his  pebble  small 
Down  some  deep  well,  and  hears  it  fall 
Smiling,  —  so  I.     Thy  days  go  on. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


ALL   ARE   NOT   TAKEN! 

ALL  are  not  taken  !  there  are  left  behind 
Living  beloveds,  tender  looks  to  bring, 
And  make  the  daylight  still  a  blessed  thing  ; 
And  tender  voices,  to  make  soft  the  wind. 
But  if  it  were  not  so,  —  if  I  could  find 
No  love  in  all  the  world  to  answer  me. 
Nor  any  pathway  but  rang  hollowly, 
Where  "dust  to  dust,"  the  love  from  life  disjoined, — 
And  if  with  parched  lips  —  as  in  a  dearth 
Of  water-springs  the  very  deserts  claim  — 
I  uttered  to  those  sepulchres  unmoving 
The  bitter  cry,  "  Where  are  ye,  O  my  loving  ?  "  — 
I  know  a  voice  would  sound,  "  Daughter,  I  am. 
Can  I  suffice  for  heaven  and  not  for  earth  ?  " 

1844.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


WHEN   SOME   BELOVEDS. 

"XT  7HEN  some  beloveds,  'neath  whose  eyelids  lay 

^  ^       The  sweet  lights  of  my  childhood,  one  by  one 
Did  leave  me  dark  before  the  natural  sun, 
And  I  astonied  fell,  and  could  not  pray  ; 


528  sOjVGS  of  the  soul, 

A  thought  within  me  to  myself  did  say, 
"  Is  God  less  God,  that  thou  art  mortal  sad  ? 
Rise,  worship,  bless  him,  in  this  sackcloth  clad, 
As  in  that  purple  !  "     But  I  answer,  nay ! 
What  child  his  filial  heart  in  words  conveys. 
If  him  for  very  good  his  father  choose 
To  smite  ?     What  can  he,  but  with  sobbing  breath 
Embrace  the  unwilling  hand  which  chasteneth  ? 
And  my  dear  Father,  thinking  fit  to  bruise. 
Discerns  in  silent  tears  both  prayer  and  praise. 

1844.  Elizabeth  Barrett  BROwNiwa 


NOW   AND   AFTERWARDS. 


T 


WO  hands  upon  the  breast, 
And  labor's  done ; 
Two  pale  feet  crossed  in  rest. 

The  race  is  won  ; 
Two  eyes  with  coin-weights  shut. 

And  all  tears  cease  ; 
Two  lips  where  grief  is  mute, 
Anger  at  peace. 
So  pray  we  oftentimes,  mourning  our  lot ; 
God  in  his  kindness  answereth  not. 

Two  hands  to  work  addrest, 

Aye  for  his  praise  ; 
Two  feet  that  never  rest, 

Walking  his  ways  ; 


1*1— ♦- ■ O-rifft 

SONGS  OF  PATIENCE,  529 

Two  eyes  that  look  above 
Through  all  their  tears  ; 
Two  lips  still  breathing  love, 
Not  wrath  nor  fears. 
So  pray  we  afterwards,  low  on  our  knees  ; 
Pardon  those  erring  prayers,  Father !  hear  these  ! 

1838.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch. 


O   LORD,  THOU   KNOWEST. 

'T^HOU  knowest,  Lord,  the  weariness  and  sorrow 
-*-       Of  the  sad  heart  that  comes  to  thee  for  rest ; 
Cares  of  to-day,  and  burdens  for  to-morrow. 

Blessings  implored,  and  sins  to  be  confessed ; 
I  come  before  thee  at  thy  gracious  word. 
And  lay  them  at  thy  feet,  —  thou  knowest,  Lord  ! 

Thou  knowest  all  the  past,  how  long  and  blindly 
On  the  dark  mountains  the  lost  wanderer  strayed. 

How  the  good  shepherd  followed,  and  how  kindly 
He  bore  it  home,  upon  his  shoulders  laid. 

And  healed  the  bleeding  wounds,  and  soothed  the  pain, 

And  brought  back  life  and  hope  and  strength  again. 

Thou  knowest  all  the  present !  each  temptation, 
Each  toilsome  duty,  each  foreboding  fear  ; 

All  to  myself  assigned  of  tribulation, 

Or  to  beloved  ones,  than  self  more  dear ; 

All  pensive  memories  as  I  journey  on, 

Longings  for  vanished  smiles,  and  voices  gone ! 

34 


^^ 


530  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

Thou  knowest  all  the  future  !  gleams  of  gladness, 
By  stormy  clouds  too  quickly  overcast ; 

Plours  of  sweet  fellowship  and  parting  sadness, 
And  the  dark  river  to  be  crossed  at  last : 

Oh,  what  could  confidence  and  hope  afford 

To  tread  that  path  but  this,  —  thou  knowest,  Lord ! 

Thou  knowest !  not  alone,  as  God  all-knowing  ; 

As  man  our  mortal  weakness  thou  hast  proved ; 
On  earth  with  purest  sympathies  o'erflowing, 

O  Saviour !  thou  hast  wept,  and  thou  hast  loved ! 
And  love  and  sorrow  still  to  thee  may  come 
And  find  a  hiding-place,  a  rest,  a  home ! 

Therefore  I  come,  thy  gentle  call  obeying, 
And  lay  my  sins  and  sorrows  at  thy  feet, 

On  everlasting  strength  my  weakness  staying. 
Clothed  in  thy  robe  of  righteousness  complete ; 

Then  rising,  and  refreshed,  I  leave  thy  throne, 

And  follow  on  to  know  as  I  am  known  ! 


I  HOPED  THAT  WITH  THE  BRAVE  AND 
STRONG. 

T  HOPED  that  with  the  brave  and  strong 
-^      My  portioned  task  might  lie  ; 
To  toil  amid  the  busy  throng 

With  purpose  pure  and  high  ; 
But  God  has  fixed  another  part, 

And  he  has  fixed  it  well : 
I  said  so  with  my  breaking  heart 

When  first  this  trouble  fell. 


SO.VGS   OF  PATIENCE.  53 1 

These  weary  hours  will  not  be  lost, 

These  days  of  misery, 
These  nights  of  darkness,  tempest-tost,  — 

Can  I  but  turn  to  thee  ; 
With  secret  labor  to  sustain 

In  patience  every  blow, 
To  gather  fortitude  from  pain, 

And  holiness  from  woe. 

If  thou  shouldst  bring  me  back  to  life, 

More  humble  I  should  be. 
More  wise,  more  strengthened  for  the  strife, 

More  apt  to  lean  on  thee. 
Should  death  be  standing  at  the  gate. 

Thus  should  I  keep  my  vow : 
But,  Lord  !  whatever  be  my  fate, 

Oh  let  me  serve  thee  now. 

1849.  Anne  Brontb, 


I  ASKED  THE  LORD  THAT  I  MIGHT  GROW. 

T  ASKED  the  Lord  that  I  might  grow 
-*-      In  faith  and  love  and  every  grace  ; 
Might  more  of  his  salvation  know. 
And  seek  more  earnestly  his  face. 

'Twas  he  who  taught  me  thus  to  pray. 
And  he,  I  trust,  has  answered  prayer ; 

But  it  has  been  in  such  a  way 
As  almost  drove  me  to  despair. 


k^ 


^ 

532  sojVgs  of  the  soul. 

I  hoped  that  in  some  favored  hour 
At  once  he'd  answer  my  request  ; 

And  by  his  lore's  constraining  power 
Subdue  my  sins,  and  give  me  rest. 

Instead  of  this  he  made  me  feel 

The  hidden  evils  of  my  heart  ; 
And  let  the  angry  powers  of  hell 

Assault  my  soul  in  every  part. 

Yea,  more,  with  his  own  hand  he  seemed 

Intent  to  aggravate  my  woe  ; 
Crossed  all  the  fair  designs  I  schemed, 

Blasted  my  gourds,  and  laid  them  low. 

"  Lord,  why  is  this  ?  "  I  trembling  cried  ; 

"  Wilt  thou  pursue  thy  worm  to  death  1 " 
"  'Tis  in  this  way,"  the  Lord  replied, 

"  I  answer  prayer  for  grace  and  faith. 

"These  inward  trials  I  employ 

From  self  and  pride  to  set  thee  free  ; 

And  break  thy  schemes  of  earthly  joy, 
That  thou  mayst  set  thine  all  in  me ! " 

i77g.  John  Newton. 


O   LORD,   MY   BEST   DESIRE   FULFIL. 

r^  LORD,  my  best  desire  fulfil, 
^^      And  help  me  to  resign 
Life,  health,  and  comfort,  to  thy  will, 
And  make  thy  pleasure  mine. 


SONGS  OF  PATIENCE.  533 

Why  should  I  shrink  at  thy  command, 

Whose  love  forbids  my  fears  ; 
Or  tremble  at  the  gracious  hand 

That  wipes  away  my  tears  ? 

No,  let  me  rather  freely  yield 

What  most  I  prize  to  thee, 
Who  never  hast  a  good  withheld, 

Or  wilt  withhold  from  me. 

Thy  favor,  all  my  journey  through. 

Thou  hast  engaged  to  grant ; 
What  else  I  want,  or  think  I  do, 

'Tis  better  still  to  want. 

Wisdom  and  mercy  guide  my  way ; 

Shall  I  resist  them  both  ? 
The  poor  blind  creature  of  a  day, 

And  crushed  before  the  moth  ! 

But,  ah  !  my  inward  spirit  cries, 

Still  bind  me  to  thy  sway ; 
Else  the  next  cloud  that  veils  my  skies 

Drives  all  these  thoughts  away. 

1779.  William  Cowpbr. 


THY  WAY,   NOT   MINE,  O   LORD. 

nPHY  way,  not  mine,  O  Lord, 
-*-       However  dark  it  be  ! 
Lead  me  by  thine  own  hand, 
Choose  out  the  path  for  me. 


534  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL, 

Smooth  let  it  be  or  rough, 

It  will  be  still  the  best ; 
Winding  or  straight,  it  leads 

Right  onward  to  thy  rest. 

I  dare  not  choose  my  lot ; 

I  would  not,  if  I  might ; 
Choose  thou  for  me,  my  God ; 

So  shall  I  walk  aright. 

The  kingdom  that  I  seek 

Is  thine  ;  so  let  the  way 
That  leads  to  it  be  thine  ; 

Else  I  must  surely  stray. 

Take  thou  my  cup,  and  it 

With  joy  or  sorrow  fill, 
As  best  to  thee  may  seem  ; 

Choose  thou  my  good  and  ill ; 

Choose  thou  for  me  my  friends, 
My  sickness  or  my  health  ; 

Choose  thou  my  cares  for  me. 
My  poverty  or  wealth. 

Not  mine,  not  mine  the  choice, 
In  things  or  great  or  small ; 

Be  thou  my  guide,  my  strength, 
My  wisdom,  and  my  all ! 

1856.  HORATIUS   BONAR. 


_ 0— 4A 

SOA'GS  OF  PATIENCE.  535 

A   LITTLE   BIRD   I   AM. 
{From  the  French.^ 

A     LITTLE  bird  I  am, 
-^-^     Shut  from  the  fields  of  air  ; 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  Him  who  placed  me  there  ; 
Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 
Because,  my  God,  it  pleases  thee. 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do  ; 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long  ; 
And  he,  whom  most  I  love  to  please, 

Doth  listen  to  my  song. 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  he  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

Thou  hast  an  ear  to  hear, 

A  heart  to  love  and  bless  ; 
And  though  my  notes  were  e'er  so  rude. 

Thou  wouldst  not  hear  the  less  ; 
Because  thou  knowest,  as  they  fall. 
That  love,  sweet  love,  inspires  them  all. 

My  cage  confines  me  round, 

Abroad  I  cannot  fly  ; 
But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart's  at  liberty. 
My  prison  walls  cannot  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 


536  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL, 

Oh,  it  is  good  to  soar, 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 
To  thee,  whose  purpose  I  adore, 

Whose  providence  is  love  ; 
And  in  thy  mighty  will  to  find 
The  joy,  the  freedom  of  the  mind. 

1717.  Madame  Guyon. 


SAVIOUR!    THOUGH   MY   REBELLIOUS   WILL. 


0  AVIOUR  !  though  my  rebelHous  will 
^^     Has  been  by  thy  blest  power  renewed, 
Yet  in  its  secret  workings  still 

How  much  remains  to  be  subdued. 

Oft  I  recall,  with  grief  and  shame. 

How  many  years  their  course  had  run. 

Ere  grace  my  murmuring  heart  o'ercame, 
Ere  I  could  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

1  wished  a  flowery  path  to  tread, 

And  thought  'twould  safely  lead  to  heaven ; 
A  lonely  room,  a  suffering  bed. 

These  for  my  training  place  were  given. 

Long  I  resisted,  mourned,  complained, 

Wished  any  other  lot  my  own  ; 
Thy  purpose,  Lord,  unchanged  remained. 

What  wisdom  planned,  love  carried  on. 


^0^1? 


5 ^ 

SONGS  OF  PATIENCE.  537 

Year  after  year  I  turned  away, 

But  marred  was  every  scheme  I  planned  ; 

Still  the  same  lesson,  day  by  day. 
Was  placed  before  me  by  thy  hand. 

At  length  thy  patient,  wondrous  love, 
Unchanging,  tender,  pitying,  strong, 

Availed  that  stubborn  heart  to  move. 
Which  had  rebelled,  alas  !  so  long. 

Then  was  I  taught  by  thee  to  say, 

"  Do  with  me  what  to  thee  seems  best ; 

Give,  take,  whate'er  thou  wilt  away, 
Health,  comfort,  usefulness,  or  rest. 

"  Be  my  whole  life  in  suffering  spent. 
But  let  me  be  in  suffering  thine,  — 

Still,  O  my  Lord,  I  am  content. 

Thou  now  hast  made  thy  pleasure  mine ! " 

1836.  Charlotte  Elliott. 


THE   MASTER'S    TOUCH. 

TN  the  still  air  the  music  lies  unheard  ; 

-^     In  the  rough  marble  beauty  hides  unseen  ; 

To  wake  the  music  and  the  beauty,  needs 

The  master's  touch,  the  sculptor's  chisel  keen. 

Great  Master,  touch  us  with  thy  skilful  hand  ! 

Let  not  the  music  that  is  in  us  die  ; 
Great  Sculptor,  hew  and  polish  us,  nor  let. 

Hidden  and  lost,  thy  form  within  us  lie ! 


^ 


538  SONGS  OF   THE   SOUL. 

Spare  not  the  stroke !  do  with  us  as  thou  wilt, 
Let  there  be  nought  unfinished,  broken,  marred ! 

Complete  thy  purpose,  that  we  may  become 
Thy  perfect  image,  O  our  God  and  Lord ! 

1856.  HORATIUS    DONAK. 


THY   WILL   BE   DONE. 

IV  yTY  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray 
^^     Far  from  my  home,  on  life's  rough  way, 
Oh  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Though  dark  my  path  and  sad  my  lot. 
Let  me  be  still  and  murmur  not, 
Or  breathe  the  prayer  divinely  taught. 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

What  though  in  lonely  grief  I  sigh 
For  friends  beloved,  no  longer  nigh. 
Submissive  still  would  I  reply. 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Though  thou  hast  called  me  to  resign 
What  most  I  prized,  it  ne'er  was  mine, 
I  have  but  yielded  what  was  thine  ; 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Should  grief  or  sickness  waste  away 
My  life  in  premature  decay, 
My  Father,  still  I  strive  to  say, . 
Thy  will  be  done. 


HH — 0 — — *— H»; 


SONGS   OF  PATIENCE.  539 

Let  but  my  fainting  heart  be  blest 
With  thy  sweet  spirit  for  its  guest, 
My  God,  to  thee  I  leave  the  rest ; 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Renew  my  will  from  day  to  day ; 
Blend  it  with  thine  ;  and  take  away 
All  that  now  makes  it  hard  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Then,  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more 
The  prayer  half  mixed  with  tears  before, 
I'll  sing,  upon  a  happier  shore, 
"  Thy  will  be  done." 

1836.  Charlotte  Elliott. 

O  FAITHFUL  GOD!   O  PITYING  HEART! 

{Ach  treuer  Gott !  barmherzigs  Hertz  I^ 

r\  FAITHFUL  God!  O  pitying  Heart, 
^^     Whose  goodness  hath  no  end, 
I  know  this  cross,  with  all  its  smart, 

TKy  hand  alone  doth  send  ! 
Yes,  Lord,  I  know  it  is  thy  love, 
Not  wrath  or  hatred,  bids  me  prove 

The  load  'neath  which  I  bend. 

'Twas  ever  wont  with  thee,  my  God, 

To  chasten  oft  a  son  ; 
He  whom  thou  lovest  feels  thy  rod, 

Tears  flow  ere  joy  is  won  ; 
Thou  leadest  us,  through  darkest  pain, 
Back  to  the  joyous  light  again  ; 

Thus  ever  thou  hast  done. 


540  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

For  e'en  the  Son,  thou  most  dost  love, 

Here  trod  the  path  of  woe  ; 
Ere  he  might  reach  his  throne  above, 

He  bore  the  cross  below  ; 
Through  anguish,  scorn,  and  poverty. 
Through  bitterest  death,  he  passed  that  we 

The  bliss  of  heaven  might  know. 

And  if  the  pure  and  sinless  One 

Could  thus  to  sorrow  bow. 
Shall  I,  who  so  much  ill  have  done, 

Resist  the  Cross  ?     O  thou, 
In  whom  doth  perfect  patience  shine. 
Whoe'er  would  fain  be  counted  thine 

Must  wear  thy  likeness  now  ! 

Yet,  Father,  each  fresh  aching  heart 

Will  question,  in  its  woe. 
If  thou  canst  send  such  bitter  smart. 

And  yet  no  anger  know. 
How  long  the  hours  beneath  the  cross*! 
How  hard  to  learn  that  love  and  loss 

From  one  sole  Fountain  flow ! 

But  what  I  cannot,  thou  true  Good, 

Oh  work  thyself  in  me  ; 
Nor  ever  let  my  trials'  flood 

O'erwhelm  my  faith  in  thee  ! 
Keep  me  from  every  murmur,  Lord, 
And  make  me  steadfast  in  thy  word  ; 

My  Tower  of  Refuge  be ! 


# 


SONGS  OF  PATIENCE.  54] 

If  I  am  weak,  thy  tender  care 

Shall  bid  me  fear  no  ill ; 
With  ceaseless  cries  and  tears  and  prayer. 

The  long  sad  hours  I'll  fill ; 
The  heart  that  yet  can  hope  and  trust, 
And  cry  to  thee,  though  from  the  dust, 

Is  all  unconquered  still ! 

O  Thou  who  diedst  to  give  us  life, 

Full  well  to  thee  is  known 
The  cross  and  all  the  inner  strife 

Of  those  who  weep  alone, 
And  'neath  their  burden  well-nigh  faint ; 
The  aching  heart's  unspoken  plaint 

Finds  echo  in  thine  own. 

Ah,  Christ,  do  thou  within  me  speak, 

For  thou  canst  comfort  best ; 
The  tower  and  stronghold  of  the  weak. 

The  weary  wanderer's  rest, 
Our  shadow  in  the  noonday  hours, 
And,  when  the  tempest  round  us  lowers, 

Our  shelter  safe  and  blest ! 

O  Holy  Spirit,  sent  of  God, 

In  whom  all  gladness  lies, 
Refresh  my  soul,  lift  off  her  load, 

From  thee  all  sadness  flies  ; 
Thou  knowest  the  glories  yet  to  come, 
The  joy,  the  solace,  of  that  home 

Where  we,  one  day,  shall  rise. 


542  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

There  in  thy  presence  we  shall  see 

Glories  beyond  our  ken  ; 
The  cross,  known  here  to  none  but  thee, 

Shall  turn  to  gladness  then  ; 
There  smiles  for  all  our  tears  are  given, 
And  for  our  woes  the  joys  of  heaven  ; 

Lord,  I  believe.  Amen  ! 

Paul  Gerhardt. 

THY  WILL   BE    DONE. 

"\"X  ?"£  see  not,  know  not ;  all  our  way 

^  ^       Is  night,  —  with  thee  alone  is  day  : 
From  out  the  torrent's  double  drift. 
Above  the  storm  our  prayers  we  lift, 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

The  flesh  may  fail,  the  heart  may  faint, 
But  who  are  we  to  make  complaint. 
Or  dare  to  plead,  in  times  like  these, 
The  weakness  of  our  love  of  ease  ? 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

We  take  with  solemn  thankfulness 
Our  burden  up,  nor  ask  it  less. 
And  count  it  joy  that  even  we 
May  suffer,  serve,  or  wait  for  thee. 
Whose  will  be  done ! 

Though  dim  as  yet  in  tint  and  line, 
We  trace  thy  picture's  wise  design, 
And  thank  thee  that  our  age  supphes 
Its  dark  relief  of  sacrifice. 
Thy  will  be  done ! 


SOA^GS  OF  PATIENCE,  543 

And  if,  in  our  unworthiness, 
Thy  sacrificial  wine  we  press  ; 
If,  from  thirie  ordeal's  heated  bars, 
Our  feet  are  seamed  with  crimson  scars. 
Thy  will  be  done  ! 

Strike,  thou  the  Master,  we  thy  keys, 
The  anthem  of  the  destinies, 
The  minor  of  thy  loftier  strain  : 
Our  hearts  shall  breathe  the  old  refrain, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

1863.  J.  G.  Whittier. 


I  WORSHIP  THEE,   SWEET  WILL  OF  GOD  ! 

T  WORSHIP  thee,  sweet  will  of  God ! 
-^     And  all  thy  ways  adore, 
And  every  day  I  live  I  seem 
To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Thou  wert  the  end,  the  blessed  rule, 

Of  Jesu's  toils  and  tears  ; 
Thou  wert  the  passion  of  his  heart 

Those  three  and  thirty  years. 

And  he  hath  breathed  into  my  soul 

A  special  love  of  thee,  — 
A  love  to  lose  my  will  in  his, 

And  by  that  loss  be  free. 

I  love  to  see  thee  bring  to  nought 

The  plans  of  wily  men  ; 
When  simple  hearts  outwit  the  wise, 

Oh,  thou  art  loveHest  then ! 


544  solves  OF  THE  SOUL. 

The  headstrong  world,  it  presses  hard 

Upon  the  church  full  oft  ; 
And  then  how  easily  thou  turn'st 

The  hard  ways  into  soft. 

I  love  to  kiss  each  print  where  thou 
Hast  set  thine  unseen  feet ; 

I  cannot  fear  thee,  blessed  will ! 
Thine  empire  is  so  sweet. 

When  obstacles  and  trials  seem 

Like  prison-walls  to  be, 
I  do  the  little  I  can  do, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  thee. 

I  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt ; 

My  heart  is  ever  gay  ; 
I  run  no  risk,  for,  come  what  will, 

Thou  always  hast  thy  way. 

I  have  no  cares,  O  blessed  will ! 

For  all  my  cares  are  thine  ; 
I  live  in  triumph,  Lord  !  for  thou 

Hast  made  thy  triumphs  mine. 

And  when  it  seems  no  chance  nor  change 

From  grief  can  set  me  free, 
Hope  finds  its  strength  in  helplessness. 

And  gayly  waits  on  thee. 

Man's  weakness  waiting  upon  God, 

Its  end  can  never  miss  ; 
For  men  on  earth  no  work  can  do 

More  angel-like  than  this. 


# 


0-4* 

SOA'GS  OF  PATIENCE,  545 

Ride  on  !  ride  on,  triumphantly, 

Thou  glorious  will,  ride  on ! 
Faith's  pilgrim-sons  behind  thee  take 

The  road  that  thou  hast  gone. 

He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God ; 

To  him  no  chance  is  lost ; 
God's  will  is  sweetest  to  him  when 

It  triumphs  at  his  cost. 

Ill  that  he  blesses  is  our  good, 

And  unblest  good  is  ill, 
And  it  is  right  that  seems  most  wrong. 

If  it  be  his  sweet  will ! 

1849.  F.  W.  Faber. 


A   CITY   THAT  HATH   FOUNDATIONS. 

n^HEREFORE,  O  friend,  I  would  not,  if  I  might, 
"*-       Rebuild  my  house  of  lies,  wherein  I  joyed 
One  time  to  dwell :  my  soul  shall  walk  in  white, 
Cast  down,  but  not  destroyed. 

Therefore  in  patience  I  possess  my  soul ; 
Yea,  therefore  as  a  flint  I  set  my  face, 
To  pluck  down,  to  build  up  again  the  whole,  — 
But  in  a  distant  place. 

The  thorns  are  sharp,  yet  I  can  tread  on  them  ; 

The  cup  is  bitter,  yet  He  makes  it  sweet  : 
My  face  is  steadfast  toward  Jerusalem, 
My  heart  remembers  it. 


%- 

54^  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  lift  the  hanging  hands,  the  feeble  knees,  — 

I,  precious  more  than  seven  times  molten  gold,  — 
Until  the  day  when  from  his  store-houses 
God  shall  bring  new  and  old. 

Beauty  for  ashes,  oil  of  joy  for  grief, 

Garment  of  praise  for  spirit  of  heaviness  ; 
Although  to-day  I  fade  as  doth  a  leaf, 
I  languish,  and  grow  less. 

Although  to-day  he  prunes  my  twigs  with  pain, 

Yet  doth  his  blood  nourish  and  warm  my  root ; 
To-morrow  I  shall  put  forth  buds  again. 
And  clothe  myself  with  fruit. 

Although  to-day  I  walk  in  tedious  ways,  — 

To-day  his  staff  is  turned  into  a  rod,  — 

Yet  will  I  wait  for  him  the  appointed  days. 

And  stay  upon  my  God. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


GO    NOT   FAR   FROM    ME,    O    MY   STRENGTH  ! 

(~^  O  not  far  from  me,  O  my  Strength, 
^-^     Whom  all  my  times  obey  ; 
Take  from  me  any  thing  thou  wilt, 

But  go  not  thou  away  ; 
And  let  the  storm  that  does  thy  work 

Deal  with  me  as  it  may. 

On  thy  compassions  I  repose 
In  weakness  and  distress, 


riH--^ 


SONGS  OF  PATIENCE.  $47 

I  will  not  ask  for  greater  ease, 

Lest  I  should  love  thee  less. 
Oh,  'tis  a  blessed  thing  for  me 

To  need  thy  tenderness  ! 

While  many  sympathizing  hearts 

For  my  deliverance  care, 
Thou,  in  thy  wiser,  stronger  love, 

Art  teaching  me  to  bear, 
By  the  sweet  voice  of  thankful  song, 

And  calm,  confiding  prayer. 

Thy  love  has  many  a  lighted  path 

No  outward  eye  can  trace, 
And  my  heart  sees  thee  in  the  deep, 

With  darkness  on  its  face. 
And  communes  with  thee  'mid  the  storm, 

As  in  a  secret  place. 

O  Comforter  of  God's  redeemed, 

Whom  the  world  does  not  see. 
What  hand  should  pluck  me  from  the  flood 

That  casts  my  soul  on  thee  ? 
Who  would  not  suffer  j>ain  like  mine. 

To  be  consoled  like  me  ? 

When  I  am  feeble  as  a  child, 

And  flesh  and  heart  give  way. 
Then,  on  thine  everlasting  strength, 

With  passive  trust  I  stay. 
And  the  rough  wind  becomes  a  song. 

The  darkness  shines  like  day. 


9fH^ 


^ 

548  SOA'GS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Oh,  blessed  are  the  eyes  that  see, 
Though  silent  anguish  show. 

The  love  that  in  their  hours  of  sleep 
Unthanked  may  come  and  go. 

And  blessed  are  the  ears  that  hear, 
Though  kept  awake  by  woe. 

Happy  are  they  that  learn  in  thee, 
Though  patient  suffering  teach. 

The  secret  of  enduring  strength, 
And  praise  too  deep  for  speech  : 

Peace  that  no  pressure  from  without, 
No  strife  within,  can  reach. 

There  is  no  death  for  me  to  fear. 
For  Christ  my  Lord  hath  died  ; 

There  is  no  curse  in  this  my  pain. 
For  he  was  crucified. 

And  it  is  fellowship  with  him. 
That  keeps  me  near  his  side. 

My  heart  is  fixed,  O  God  my  strength  ! 

My  heart  is  strong  to  bear  ; 
I  will  be  joyful  in  thy  love. 

And  peaceful  in  thy  care. 
Deal  with  me,  for  my  Saviour's  sake, 

According  to  his  prayer. 

No  suffering  while  it  lasts  is  joy, 

How  blest  soe'er  it  be ; 
Yet  may  the  chastened  child  be  glad 

His  father's  face  to  see  ; 


-0— HJn 


SOA'GS  OF  PATIENCE.  549 

And,  oh,  it  is  not  hard  to  bear 
What  must  be  borne  in  thee  ! 

It  is  not  hard  to  bear  by  faith, 

In  thine  own  bosom  laid, 
The  trial  of  a  soul  redeemed, 

For  thy  rejoicing  made. 
Well  may  the  heart  in  patience  rest, 

That  none  can  make  afraid. 

Safe  in  thy  sanctifying  grace, 

Almighty  to  restore,  — 
Borne  onward,  —  sin  and  death  behind, 

And  love  and  life  before,  — 
Oh  let  my  soul  abound  in  hope. 

And  praise  thee  more  and  more ! 

Deep  unto  deep  may  call,  but  I 

With  peaceful  heart  will  say. 
Thy  loving-kindness  hath  a  charge. 

No  waves  can  take  away  ; 
And  let  the  storm  that  speeds  me  home 

Deal  with  me  as  it  may. 

i860.  A.  L.  Waring. 


WHEN    I    CONSIDER   HOW   MY   LIGHT   IS    SPENT. 

"XT  T'HEN  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 

^  ^       Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide. 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 


■^ — H^ 


550  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he,  returning,  chide,  — 
"  Doth  God  exact  day  labor,  light  denied  ?  " 
I  fondly  ask.     But  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts  ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :  his  state 
Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest : 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait ! " 

1692.  John  Milton. 


THE    OUTER    DARKNESS    AND    THE    INNER 
LIGHT. 


I 


AM  old  and  Wind ! 
Men  point  at  me  as  smitten  by  God's 
frown. 
Afflicted  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 
Yet  I  am  not  cast  down. 

I  am  weak,  yet  strong ! 
I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  see  ; 
Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong. 

Father,  supreme,  to  thee  ! 

O  merciful  One ! 
When  men  are  farthest,  then  thou  art  most  near  ; 
When  friends  pass  by  me,  and  my  weakness  shun, 

Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

Thy  glorious  face 
Is  leaning  toward  me,  and  its  holy  light 
Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling-place,  — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 


^0^? 


SOJVGS  OF  PATIENCE.  551 

On  my  bended  knee 
I  recognize  thy  purpose  clearly  shown  ; 
My  vision  thou  hast  dimmed,  that  I  may  see 

Thyself,  thyself  alone. 

I  have  naught  to  fear  ; 
This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  thy  wing ; 
Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred  ;  here 

Can  come  no  evil  thing, 

Oh,  I  seem  to  stand 
Trernbhng,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 
Wrapped  in  the  radiance  of  thy  sinless  land, 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen  ! 

Visions  come  and  go  ; 
Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng  ; 
From  angel-lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 

Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

Is  it  nothing  new, 
When  heaven  is  opening  on  my  sightless  eyes  ? 
When  airs  from  Paradise  refresh  my  brow. 

The  earth  in  darkness  lies. 

In  a  purer  clime 
My  being  fills  with  rapture,  —  waves  of  thought 
Roll  in  upon  my  spirit,  —  strains  subHme 

Break  over  me  unsought ! 

Give  me  now  my  lyre ! 
I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine  ; 
Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  fire, 

Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine ! 


-o-Hhh 


552  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


PILGRIMS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

TT  ARK,  hark,  my  soul !  angelic  songs  are  swelling 
•*-  -'-     O'er  earth's  green  fields,  and  ocean's  wave-beat 

shore ; 
How  sweet  the  truth  those  blessed  strains  are  teUing 
Of  that  new  life  when  sin  shall  be  no  more ! 

Darker  than  night,  life's  shadows  fall  around  us  ; 

And,  like  benighted  men,  we  miss  our  mark ; 
God  hides  himself,  and  grace  hath  scarcely  found  us, 

Ere  death  finds  out  his  victims  in  the  dark. 

Onward  we  go,  for  still  we  hear  them  singing. 
Come,  weary  souls  !  for  Jesus  bids  you  come  ! 

And  through  the  dark,  its  echoes  sweetly  ringing, 
The  music  of  the  Gospel  leads  us  home. 

Far,  far  away,  like  bells  at  evening  pealing. 
The  voice  of  Jesus  sounds  o'er  land  and  sea. 

And  laden  souls,  by  thousands  meekly  stealing, 
Kind  Shepherd,  turn  their  weary  steps  to  thee ! 

Rest  comes  at  length  ;  though  life  be  long  and  dreary, 
The  day  must  dawn,  and  darksome  night  be  past ; 

All  journeys  end  in  welcomes  to  the  weary, 

And  heaven,  the  heart's  true  home,  will  come  at 
last! 

Cheer  up,  my  soul !  Faith's  moonbeams  softly  glisten 
Upon  the  breast  of  life's  most  troubled  sea ; 

And  it  will  cheer  thy  drooping  heart  to  listen 

To  those  brave  songs  which  angels  mean  for  thee. 


^*-^^ 


-0 — Hi 


SO.VGS   OF  PATIENCE.  553 

Angels,  sing  on  !  your  faithful  watches  keeping  ! 

Sing  us  sweet  fragments  of  the  songs  above ; 
While  we  toil  on,  and  soothe  ourselves  with  weeping, 

Till  life's  long  night  shall  break  in  endless  love. 

1862.  F.  W.  Faber. 


A   LANCASHIRE   DOXOLOGY. 

TDRAISE  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
-'-        Praise  him  who  sendeth  joy  and  woe, 
The  Lord  who  takes,  the  Lord  who  gives, — 
Oh  praise  him,  all  that  dies,  and  lives  ! 

He  opens  and  he  shuts  his  hand  ; 
But  why,  we  cannot  understand  : 
Pours,  and  dries  up,  his  mercies'  flood, 
And  yet  is  still  All-perfect  Good. 

We  fathom  not  the  mighty  plan. 
The  mystery  of  God  and  man  ; 
We  women  when  afflictions  come,  — 
We  only  suffer  and  are  dumb. 

And  when,  the  tempest  passing  by, 
He  gleams  out,  sun-like,  through  our  sky. 
We  look  up,  and,  through  black  clouds  riven, 
We  recognize  the  smile  of  Heaven. 

Ours  is  no  wisdom  of  the  wise, 
We  have  no  deep  philosophies  : 
Child-like,  we  take  both  kiss  and  rod  ; 
For  he  who  loveth,  hzoweth  God ! 

»866.  Dinah  Maria  MuU)CK 


SONGS    OF    PEACE. 


3X«C 


BLEST  IS  THE  FAITH  DIVINE  AND  STRONG. 


"D  LEST  is  the  faith  divine  and  strong, 

-*-^     Of  thanks  and  praise  an  endless  fountain, 

Whose  life  is  one  perpetual  song 

High  up  the  Saviour's  holy  mountain. 

Blest  is  the  hope  that  holds  to  God, 
In  doubt  and  darkness  still  unshaken ; 

And  sings  along  the  heavenly  road, 

Sweetest  when  most  it  seems  forsaken. 

Blest  is  the  love  that  cannot  love 

Aught  that  earth  gives  of  best,  and  brightest ; 
Whose  raptures  thrill,  like  saints  above. 

Most  when  its  earthly  gifts  are  lightest. 

Blest  is  the  time  that  in  the  eye 

Of  God  its  hopeful  watch  is  keeping, 

And  grows  into  eternity, 

Like  noiseless  trees  when  men  are  sleeping. 

1862.  F.  W.  Faber, 


-0 — 

558  SOA^GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

NOT    SELDOM,    CLAD   IN   RADIANT  VEST. 


N' 


"OT  seldom,  clad  in  radiant  vest, 
DQceitfully  goes  forth  the  morn  ; 
Not  seldom,  evening  in  the  west 
Sinks  smilingly  forsworn. 

The  smoothest  seas  will  sometimes  prove, 

To  the  confiding  bark,  untrue  ; 
And,  if  she  trust  the  stars  above, 

They  can  be  treacherous  too. 

The  umbrageous  oak,  in  pomp  outspread, 
Full  oft,  when  storms  the  welkin  rend, 

Draws  lightnings  down  upon  the  head 
It  promised  to  defend. 

But  thou  art  true  incarnate  Lord, 
Who  didst  vouchsafe  for  man  to  die : 

Thy  smile  is  sure,  thy  plighted  word 
No  change  can  falsify. 

I  bent  before  thy  gracious  throne, 

And  asked  for  peace,  with  suppliant  knee ; 

And  peace  was  given,  —  nor  peace  alone, 
But  faith,  and  hope,  and  ecstasy ! 

1834.  William  Wordsworth. 


YEARS    CANNOT   MAKE  THEIR   STRENGTH 
DECAY. 

A/'EARS  cannot  make  their  strength  decay, 
-*-       Who  lean  upon  the  Lord  ; 


Nor  age  fling  shadows  o'er  the  way 
That's  lighted  by  his  word  : 


SO.VGS   OF  PEACE.  559 

Their  path  doth  bright  and  brighter  shine, 

Till  perfect  in  the  skies  ; 
And  life's  soft  eve  is  ne  decline, 

For  heavenward  still  they  rise. 

When  winter's  might  hath  rent  the  oak. 

Or  summer  bhghts  its  shoot, 
The  streams  of  God  can  heal  the  stroke, 

And  sprout  its  deathless  root  : 
And  souls,  that  have  the  fountain  quaffed 

Of  Christ's  world-healing  side. 
Arise,  immortal  from  the  draught, 

And  live,  through  him  that  died. 

1869.  Bishop  Coxb. 


WHILST   THEE   I   SEEK,    PROTECTING   POWER. 


^T  WHILST  thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power, 

'  '^     Be  my  vain  wishes  stilled ; 
And  may  this  consecrated  hour 
With  better  hopes  be  filled. 

Thy  love  the  power  of  thought  bestowed,  — 
To  thee  my  thoughts  would  soar : 

Thy  mercy  o'er  my  life  has  flowed  ; 
That  mercy  I  adore. 

In  each  event  of  life,  how  clear 

Thy  ruling  hand  I  see  ! 
Each  blessing  to  my  soul  most  dear. 

Because  conferred  by  thee. 


W-<y- 


S6o  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

In  every  joy  that  crowns  my  days, 

In  every  pain  I  bear, 
My  heart  shall  find  delight  in  praise, 

Or  seek  relief  in  prayer. 

When  gladness  wings  my  favored  hour, 
Thy  love  my  thoughts  shall  fill ; 

Resigned,  when  storms  of  sorrow  lower, 
My  soul  shall  meet  thy  will. 

My  lifted  eye,  without  a  tear. 
The  gathering  storm  shall  see  ; 

My  steadfast  heart  shall  know  no  fear,  — 
That  heart  will  rest  on  thee. 


# 


H.  M.  Williams. 


CALM   ME,   MY  GOD. 

/^^ALM  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm, 
^^     While  these  hot  breezes  blow  ; 
Be  like  the  night-dew's  cooling  balm 
Upon  earth's  fevered  brow  ! 

Calm  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm, 

Soft  resting  on  thy  breast  ; 
Soothe  me  with  holy  hymn  and  psalm, 

And  bid  my  spirit  rest. 

Calm  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me  calm  ; 

Let  thine  outstretched  wing 
Be  like  the  shade  of  Elim's  palm 

Beside  her  desert-spring. 


w^ 


SONGS  OF  PEACE.  5^1 

Yes  :  keep  me  calm,  though  loud  and  rude 

The  sounds  mine  ear  that  greet ; 
Calm  in  the  closet's  solitude, 
Calm  in  the  busthng  street ; 

Calm  in  the  hour  of  buoyant  health, 

Calm  in  my  hour  of  pain  ; 
Calm  in  my  poverty  or  wealth, 

Calm  in  my  loss  or  gain  ; 

Calm  in  the  sufferance  of  wrong, 

Like  him  who  bore  my  shame ; 
Calm  'mid  the  threatening,  taunting  throng. 

Who  hate  thy  holy  name  ; 

Calm  when  the  great  world's  news  with  power 

My  listening  spirit  stir  : 
Let  not  the  tidings  of  the  hour 

E'er  find  too  fond  an  ear : 

Calm  as  the  ray  of  sun  or  star 

Which  storms  assail  in  vain, 
Moving  unruffled  through  earth's  war. 

The  eternal  calm  to  gain ! 

1856.  HORATIUS   BONAR. 


FAR   FROM    THE   WORLD,    O    LORD,    I    FLEE. 

TTj^AR  from  the  world,  O  Lord,  I  flee, 
-*-        From  strife  and  tumult  far ; 
From  scenes  where  Satan  rages  still 
His  unsuccessful  war. 
36 


# 


f 


S62  SOA'GS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade, 

With  prayer  and  praise  agree. 
And  seem  by  thy  sweet  bounty  made 

For  those  who  follow  thee. 

There,  if  thy  spirit  touch  the  soul. 

And  grace  her  mean  abode, 
Oh,  with  what  peace,  and  joy  and  love, 

She  communes  with  her  God ! 

There,  like  the  nightingale,  she  pours 

Her  solitary  lays. 
Nor  asks  a  witness  of  her  song. 

Nor  thirsts  for  human  praise. 

Author  and  guardian  of  my  life, 

Sweet  source  of  light  divine, 
And,  all  harmonious  names  in  one. 

My  Saviour,  thou  art  mine  ! 

What  thanks  I  owe  thee,  and  what  love, 

A  boundless,  endless  store, 
Shall  echo  through  the  realms  above, 

When  time  shall  be  no  more. 

1779.  William  Cowper. 


IN   THE   MID   SILENCE   OF   THE   VOICELESS 
NIGHT. 

TN  the  mid  silence  of  the  voiceless  night, 
-■-     When,  chased  by  airy  dreams,  the  slumbers  flee, 
Whom  in  the  darkness  doth  my  spirit  seek, 
O  God,  but  thee  t 


rm—^ — 0— J^ 

SONGS   OF  PEACE.  5^3 

And  if  there  be  a  weight  upon  my  breast, 
Some  vague  impression  of  the  day  foregone  ; 
Scarce  knowing  what  it  is,  I  fly  to  thee, 
And  lay  it  down. 

Or  if  it  be  the  heaviness  that  comes 
In  token  of  anticipated  ill. 
My  bosom  takes  no  heed  of  what  it  is. 
Since  'tis  thy  will. 

For  oh,  in  spite  of  past  and  present  care, 
Or  any  thing  beside,  how  joyfully 
Passes  that  almost  solitary  hour. 
My  God,  with  thee  ! 

More  tranquil  than  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
More  peaceful  than  the  silence  of  that  hour. 
More  blest  than  any  thing,  my  bosom  lies 
Beneath  thy  power. 

For  what  is  there  on  earth  that  I  desire, 
Of  all  that  it  can  give  or  take  from  me  t 
Or  whom  in  heaven  doth  my  spirit  seek, 
O  God,  but  thee  > 


MY   GOD,   IS   ANY   HOUR   SO   SWEET. 

iy yTY  God,  is  any  hour  so  sweet, 
SMx.     pj-om  blush  of  morn  to  evening  star, 
As  that  which  calls  me  to  thy  feet, 
The  hour  of  prayer  ? 


^^-^ 


^^ 


^ 

564  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

Blest  is  the  tranquil  hour  of  morn, 

And  blest  that  hour  of  solemn  eve, 
When,  on  the  wings  of  prayer  upborne, 
The  world  I  leave. 

Then  is  my  strength  by  thee  renewed  ; 
Then  are  my  sins  by  thee  forgiven  ; 
Then  dost  thou  cheer  my  solitude 
With  hopes  of  heaven. 

No  words  can  tell  what  sweet  relief 
There  for  my  every  want  I  find  ; 
What  strength  for  warfare,  balm  for  grief, 
What  peace  of  mind. 

Hushed  is  each  doubt,  gone  every  fear ; 

My  spirit  seems  in  heaven  to  stay ; 
And  e'en  the  penitential  tear 
Is  wiped  away. 

Lord,  till  I  reach  that  blissful  shore, 

No  privilege  so  dear  shall  be. 
As  thus  mine  inmost  soul  to  pour 
In  prayer  to  thee. 

1830.  Charlotte  Elliott. 


SWEET  WAS  THE  HOUR,  O  LORD. 

O  WEET  was  the  hour,  O  Lord,  to  thee, 
^^     At  Sychar's  lonely  well. 
When  a  poor  outcast  heard  thee,  there. 
The  great  salvation  tell. 


SOJVGS  OF  PEACE.  5^5 

Thither  she  came,  but  oh,  her  heart, 

All  filled  with  earthly  care, 
Dreamed  not  of  thee,  nor  thought  to  find 

The  hope  of  Israel  there  ! 

Lord,  'twas  thy  power,  unseen,  that  drew 

The  stray  one  to  that  place, 
In  solitude  to  learn  of  thee 

The  secrets  of  thy  grace. 

There  Jacob's  erring  daughter  found 

Those  streams  unknown  before. 
The  water-brooks  of  life,  that  make 

The  weary  thirst  no  more. 

And,  Lord,  to  us,  as  vile  as  she. 

The  gracious  lips  have  told 
That  mystery  of  love,  revealed 

At  Jacob's  well  of  old. 

In  spirit,  Lord,  we've  sat  with  thee 

Beside  the  springing  well 
Of  life  and  peace,  and  heard  thee  there 

Its  healing  virtues  tell. 

Dead  to  the  world,  we  dream  no  more 

Of  earthly  pleasures  now  ; 
Our  deep,  divine,  unfailing  spring 

Of  grace  and  glory  thou  ! 

No  hope  of  rest  in  aught  beside. 

No  beauty.  Lord,  we  see  ; 
And,  like  Samaria's  daughter,  seek, 

And  find  our  all  in  thee. 

1863.  Sir  Edward  Denny. 


566  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 


JACOB'S   WELL. 

"XT /"HERE  once  Samaria's  deep,  cold  well  had  given 

^  ^       Its  liquid  treasure  to  the  patriarch's  thirst, 
There  stands  a  stranger  now,  who  brings  from  heaven 
A  richer  boon  than  that  bestowed  at  first. 

God's  bounteous  gift,  that  well,  from  age  to  age, 
Cooled  the  parched  lip,  and  bade  the  fainting  live ; 

But  oh,  diviner  power  !  'tis  his  to  assuage 
The  soul's  deep  thirst,  and  life  eternal  give ! 

No  draught  from  earthly  fountains  e'er  can  fill 
The  immortal  spirit's  longings  to  be  blest ; 

The  gracious  words  that  from  his  lips  distil, 
Alone  can  calm  that  feverish  unrest. 

For  there  celestial,  pitying  love  reveals 

A  friend  divine  to  sorrowing  mortals  given ; 

The  arid  heart  the  genial  influence  feels. 

Melts  into  love,  and  tastes  the  life  of  heaven. 

Oh  give  to  him  thy  trust,  and  he  shall  bring 
A  bHss  to  thee  that  time  can  ne'er  destroy  ; 

For  heavenly  love  within  thy  soul  shall  spring, 
A  living  fountain  of  perennial  joy. 

1863.  W.    C.   D>NA. 


I    HEARD   THE  VOICE   OF  JESUS   SAY. 

T  HEARD  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 
-^     "  Come  unto  me  and  rest ; 
Lay  down,  thou  weary  one,  lay  down 
Thy  head  upon  my  breast." 


^6-^fc 


SONGS  OF  PEACE.  S^7 

I  came  to  Jesus  as  I  was, 

Weary,  and  worn,  and  sad  ; 
I  found  in  him  a  resting-place, 

And  he  has  made  me  glad. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 

"  Behold  !  I  freely  give 
The  living  water  ;  thirsty  one, 

Stoop  down  and  drink  and  live. " 
I  came  to  Jesus,  and  I  drank 

Of  that  life-giving  stream  ; 
My  thirst  was  quenched,  my  soul  revived, 

And  now  I  live  in  him. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 

"  I  am  this  dark  w^orld's  light ; 
Look  unto  me,  thy  morn  shall  rise, 

And  all  thy  day  be  bright." 
I  looked  to  Jesus,  and  I  found 

In  him  my  star,  my  sun  ; 
And  in  that  light  of  life  I'll  walk. 

Till  travelling  days  are  done. 

1856.  HORATIUS    BONAR. 


PEACE. 

IV /TY  soul,  there  is  a  country 
^^^     Afar  beyond  the  stars. 
Where  stands  a  wingM  sentry, 
All  skilful  in  the  wars. 


^ 


im.  » — — 0—1^ 

568  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles, 

And  One,  born  in  a  manger, 
Commands  the  beauteous  files. 

He  is  thy  gracious  friend, 

And  (O  my  soul,  awake !) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend, 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 

If  thou  canst  get  but  thither, 
There  grows  the  flower  of  peace. 

The  rose  that  cannot  wither, 
Thy  fortress  and  thine  ease. 

Leave,  then,  thy  foolish  ranges  ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure, 
But  One,  who  never  changes, 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

1654.  Henry  Vaughan. 


NO,     NO,     IT     IS     NOT     DYING! 

{Nein,  nein,  das  ist  kein  sterben  ! ) 


"I^rO,  no,  it  is  not  dying, 
-^  ^      To  go  unto  our  God  ; 
This  gloomy  earth  forsaking, 
Our  journey  homeward  taking, 
Along  the  starry  road. 


SONGS  OF  PEACE.  5^9 

No,  no,  it  is  not  dying, 

Heaven  s  citizen  to  be  ; 
A  crown  immortal  wearing. 
And  rest  unbroken  sharing. 

From  care  and  conflict  free. 

No,  no,  it  is  not  dying 

To  hear  this  gracious  word, 
"  Receive  a  Father's  blessing. 
For  evermore  possessing 

The  favor  of  the  Lord." 

No,  no,  it  is  not  dying, 

The  Shepherd's  voice  to  know. 

His  sheep  he  ever  leadeth, 

His  peaceful  flock  he  feedeth. 
Where  living  pastures  grow. 

No,  no,  it  is  not  dying. 

To  wear  a  lordly  crown  ; 
Among  God's  people  dwelling. 
The  glorious  triumph  swelling, 

Of  him  whose  sway  we  own. 

Oh,  no,  this  is  not  dying, 

Thou  Saviour  of  mankind  ! 
There  streams  of  love  are  flowing. 
No  hindrance  ever  knowing  ; 

Here  drops  alone  we  find. 

Trans,  by  Prof,  Dunn. 


570  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

A   SONG   OF   REST. 
{Kein  Ldmmlein  auf  des  Hirten  Schoos.) 

"l^rO  lambkin  by  its  shepherd  borne, 
-*-  ^      No  dove  its  mate  caressing, 
No  bondman  freed,  no  pilgrim  worn, 

The  grateful  shade  possessing  ; 
No  child  clasped  to  its  mother's  heart. 
No  sick  man  when  his  pains  depart. 

No  warrior,  home  returning  ; 
No  man  can  know  such  perfect  rest 
As  that  which  ends  our  weary  quest, 

Our  gracious  Lord  discerning. 

O  winning  words !  "  Come  unto  me, 

Ye  weary  and  forsaken  !  " 
They  gave  me  rest :  I  came  to  thee  ; 

My  burden  thou  hast  taken. 
Thus  I  am  well  who  once  was  ill  ; 
Up,  soul !  thy  lips  with  praises  fill, 

For  praise  thy  peace  deserv^eth. 
O  Saviour  !  make  me  yet  more  blest ; 
Let  me  at  last  attain  that  rest, 

Which  Heaven  for  me  reserveth  ! 

1760.  HiLLER,    TRANS.    BY    PkOF.    DuNN. 


O    EYES   THAT   ARE   WEARY. 

f^\  EYES  that  are  weary 
^^     And  hearts  that  are  sore, 
Look  off  unto  Jesus, 
And  sorrow  no  more. 


#- 


: — d-4*i 

SOA'GS  OF  PEACE,  S/I 

The  light  of  his  countenance 

Shineth  so  bright, 
That  on  earth  as  in  heaven 

There  need  be  no  night. 

Looking  off  unto  Jesus, 

Mine  eyes  cannot  see 
The  troubles  and  dangers 

That  throng  about  me : 
They  cannot  be  blinded 

By  sorrowful  tears, 
They  cannot  be  shadowed 

With  unbelief -fears. 

Looking  off  unto  Jesus, 

My  spirit  is  blest : 
In  the  world  I  have  turmoil, 

In  him  I  have  rest. 
The  sea  of  my  life 

All  about  me  may  roar : 
When  I  look  unto  Jesus, 

I  hear  it  no  more. 

Looking  off  unto  Jesus, 

I  go  not  astray  : 
Mine  eyes  are  on  him, 

And  he  shows  me  the  way. 
The  path  may  seem  dark 

As  he  leads  me  along, 
But  following  Jesus 

I  cannot  go  wrong. 

Looking  off  unto  Jesus, 
My  heart  cannot  fear  ; 


-0-45? 


572  SOA'GS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Its  trembling  is  stilled 
When  I  see  Jesus  near : 

I  know  that  his  power 
My  safeguard  will  be, 

For  "  Why  are  ye  troubled  ? ' 
He  saith  unto  me. 

Looking  off  unto  Jesus 

Oh  may  I  be  found, 
When  the  waters  of  Jordan 

Encompass  me  round : 
Let  them  bear  me  away 

In  his  presence  to  be  ! 
'Tis  but  seeing  him  nearer, 

Whom  always  I  see. 

Then,  then  I  shall  know 

The  full  beauty  and  grace 
Of  Jesus,  my  Lord, 

When  I  stand  face  to  face 
I  shall  know  how  his  love 

Went  before  me  each  day. 
And  wonder  that  ever 

Mine  eyes  turned  away. 


ONE   PRIEST   ALONE   CAN   PARDON   ME. 

/^NE  Priest  alone  can  pardon  me, 
^-^     Or  bid  me  go  in  peace. 
Can  breathe  that  word,  "  Absolvo  te," 
And  make  these  heart-throbs  cease : 


\j5\     » ^— rWi 

SONGS  OF  PEACE,  573 

My  soul  hath  heard  his  priestly  voice, 
It  said,  "  I  bore  thy  sins,  rejoice  !  " 

He  showed  the  spear-mark  in  his  side. 

The  nail-print  on  his  palm, 
Said,  "  Look  on  me,  the  crucified  ! 

Why  tremble  thus  ?  be  calm  ! 
All  power  is  mine,  —  I  set  thee  free,  — 
Be  not  afraid,  — '  Absolvo  te  ! '  " 

By  him  my  soul  is  purified, 

Once  leprous  and  defiled  ; 
Cleansed  in  the  fountain  from  his  side, 

God  sees  me  as  a  child : 
No  priest  can  heal  or  cleanse  but  he  ; 
No  other  say,  "  Absolvo  te." 

A  girded  Levite  here  below, 

I  willing  service  bring, 
And  fain  would  tell  to  all  I  know 

Of  Christ,  the  Priestly  King  : 
Would  win  all  hearts  from  sin  to  flee, 
And  hear  him  say,  "  Absolvo  te." 

A  little  while,  and  he  shall  come 

Forth  from  the  inner  shrine. 
To  call  his  pardoned  brethren  home  ; 

O  bliss,  supreme,  divine  ! 
When  every  blood-bought  child  shall  see 
The  Priest  who  said,  "  Absolvo  te." 

He  robed  me  in  a  priestly  dress. 
That  I  might  incense  bring. 


r*+— 0^ ' 

574  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Of  prayer  and  praise  and  righteousness, 

To  heaven's  eternal  King : 
And  when  he  gave  this  robe  to  me, 
He  smiled,  and  said,  "  Absolvo  te." 

In  heaven  he  stands  before  the  throne, 
The  great  High-Priest  above, 

"  Melchisedec,"  —  that  name  alone 
Can  sin's  dark  stain  remove : 

To  him  I  look  on  bended  knee, 

And  hear  that  sweet  —  "■  Absolvo  te." 


COMING. 

*At  even,  or  at  midnight,  or  at  the  cock-crowing,  or  in  the  morning." 

*'  TT  may  be  in  the  evening, 

-*-  When  the  work  of  the  day  is  done, 
And  you  have  time  to  sit  in  the  twilight, 

And  watch  the  sinking  sun. 
While  the  long,  bright  day  dies  slowly 

Over  the  sea. 
And  the  hour  grows  quiet  and  holy. 

With  thoughts  of  me  ; 
While  you  hear  the  little  children 

Passing  along  the  street, 
Among  those  thronging  footsteps 

May  come  the  sound  of  my  feet. 
Therefore  I  tell  you,  watch 

By  the  light  of  the  evening  star. 
When  the  room  is  growing  dusky 
As  the  clouds  afar  ! 


0—1* 

SOJVGS   OF  PEACE.  5/5 

Let  the  door  be  on  the  latch 

In  your  home, 
For  it  may  be  through  the  gloaming 

I  will  come ! 

"  It  may  be  when  the  midnight 

Is  heavy  upon  the  land, 
And  the  black  waves  lying  dumbly 

Along  the  sand ; 
When  the  moonless  night  draws  close, 
And  the  lights  are  out  in  the  house, 
When  the  fires  burn  low  and  red, 
And  the  watch  is  ticking  loudly 

Beside  the  bed : 
Though  you  sleep,  tired  out,  on  your  couch, 
Still  your  heart  must  wake,  and  watch 

In  the  dark  room. 
For  it  may  be  that  at  midnight 

I  will  come ! 

"  It  may  be  at  the  cock-crow, 
When  the  night  is  dying  slowly 
In  the  sky. 
And  the  sea  looks  calm  and  holy, 
Waiting  for  the  dawn 
Of  the  golden  sun, 
Which  draweth  nigh ; 
When  the  mists  are  on  the  valleys,  shading 

The  rivers  chill, 
And  my  morning  star  is  fading,  fading 

Over  the  hill : 
Behold,  I  say  unto  you,  watch ! 
Let  the  door  be  on  the  latch 


*tr-«- P— I* 

576  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

In  your  home  ; 
In  the  chill  before  the  dawning, 
Between  the  night  and  morning, 

I  may  come ! 

"  It  may  be  in  the  morning, 

When  the  sun  is  bright  and  strong, 
And  the  dew  is  glittering  sharply 

Over  the  sweet,  green  lawn  ; 
When  the  waves  are  laughing  loudly 

Along  the  shore, 
And  gay  birds  are  singing  sweetly 

About  the  door ; 
With  the  long  day's  work  before  you. 

You  rise  up  with  the  sun. 
And  your  dear  ones  come  to  talk  a  little 

Of  all  that  must  be  done, 
But  remember,  /  may  be  the  next 

To  come  in  at  the  door. 
To  call  you  from  all  your  busy  work 

For  evermore ! 
As  you  work,  your  heart  must  watch, 
For  the  door  is  on  the  latch 

In  your  room. 
And  it  may  be  in  the  morning 
I  will  come  !  " 

So  I  am  watching,  quietly. 

Every  day ! 
Whenever  the  sun  shines  brightly, 

I  rise  and  say, 
Surely  it  is  the  shining  of  his  face ! 
And  look  unto  the  gates  of  his  high  place 


SONGS  OF  PEACE.  S77 

Beyond  the  sea ; 
For  I  know  he  is  coming  shortly 

To  summon  me. 
And  when  a  shadow  falls  across  the  window 

Of  my  room, 
Where  I  am  working  my  appointed  task, 
I  lift  my  head  to  watch  the  door,  and  ask 

If  he  is  come  ; 
And  an  angel  answers  sweetly 

In  my  home, 
"  Only  a  few  more  shadows, 

And  he  will  come  ! " 


LORD,  IT   BELONGS   NOT   TO   MY   CARE. 

T    ORD,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care 
-^-^     Whether  I  die  or  live  ; 
To  love  and  serve  thee  is  my  share, 
And  this  thy  grace  must  give. 

If  life  be  long,  I  will  be  glad 

That  I  may  long  obey  ; 
If  short,  yet  why  should  I  be  sad. 

To  soar  to  endless  day. 

Christ  leads  me  through  no  darker  rooms, 
Than  he  went  through  before  ; 

He  that  unto  God's  kingdom  comes, 
Must  enter  by  his  door. 
37 


Htp-o^ 


578  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Come,  Lord,  when  grace  has  made  me  meet 

Thy  blessM  face  to  see ; 
For  if  thy  work  on  earth  be  sweet, 

What  will  thy  glory  be ! 

Then  shall  I  end  my  sad  complaints, 

My  weary,  sinful  days, 
And  join  with  the  triumphant  saints 

To  sing  Jehovah's  praise. 

My  knowledge  of  that  life  is  small, 

The  eye  of  faith  is  dim  ; 
But  'tis  enough  that  Christ  knows  all, 

And  I  shall  be  with  him. 

1691.  Richard  Baxter. 


MY       PSALM. 

T  MOURN  no  more  my  vanished  years 
-■-     Beneath  a  tender  rain, 
An  April  rain  of  smiles  and  tears, 
My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  west  wind  blows,  and  singing  low, 
I  hear  the  glad  streams  run  ; 

The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

No  longer  forward,  nor  behind, 

I  look  in  hope  or  fear ; 
But  grateful  take  the  good  I  find. 

The  best  of  now  and  here. 


f!«H — ♦- 


SOA'GS  OF  PEACE.  $79 

I  plough  no  more  a  desert  land, 

To  harvest  weed  and  tare  ; 
The  manna  dropping  from  God's  hand 

Rebukes  my  painful  care. 

I  break  my  pilgrim's  staff ;  I  lay 

Aside  the  toiling  oar  ; 
The  angel  sought  so  far  away, 

I  welcome  at  my  door. 

The  airs  of  spring  may  never  play 

Among  the  ripening  corn, 
Nor  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  May 

Blow  through  the  autumn  morn  ; 

Yet  shall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 

Through  fringed  Hds  to  heaven. 
And  the  pale  aster  in  the  brook 

Shall  see  its  image  riven  ; 

The  woods  shall  wear  their  robes  of  praise, 

The  south  wind  softly  sigh, 
And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze 

Melt  down  the  amber  sky. 

Not  less  shall  manly  deed  and  word 

Rebuke  an  age  of  wrong  ; 
The  graven  flowers  that  wreathe  the  sword 

Make  not  the  blade  less  strong. 

But  smiting  hands  shall  learn  to  heal, 

To  build  as  to  destroy  ; 
Nor  less  my  heart  for  others  feel, 

That  I  the  more  enjoy. 


^fr 

580  SOA'CS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

All  as  God  wills,  who  wisely  heeds 

To  give  or  to  withhold, 
And  knoweth  more  of  all  my  needs 

Than  all  my  prayers  have  told. 

Enough  that  blessings  undeserved 
Have  marked  my  erring  track  ; 

That  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved, 
His  chastening  turned  me  back ; 

That  more  and  more  a  providence 

Of  love  is  understood. 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 

Sweet  with  eternal  good  ; 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way 

Which  opens  into  light, 
Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  stray 

Beyond  a  Father's  sight ; 

That  care  and  trial  seem  at  last. 
Through  memory's  sunset  air, 

Like  mountain-ranges  overpast, 
In  purple  distance  fair  ; 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 

Seem  blending  in  a  psalm. 
And  all  the  angles  of  its  strife 

Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 
And  so  the  west  winds  play  ; 

And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 
I  open  to  the  day. 

1857.  John  G.  Whittihk. 


-0 — H^ 


SOA'GS  OF  PEACE.  58 1 


ACCORDING   TO   THY   WILL. 

TF  I  were  told  that  I  must  die  to-morrow, 

-^  That  the  next  sun 

Which  sink  should  bear  me  past  all  fear  and  sorrow 

For  any  one, 
All  the  fight  fought,  and  all  the  short  journey  through, 

What  should  I  do  ? 

I  do  not  think  that  I  should  shrink  or  falter, 

But  just  go  on. 
Doing  my  work,  nor  change  nor  seek  to  alter 

Aught  that  is  gone  ; 
But  rise,  and  move,  and  love,  and  smile,  and  pray 

For  one  more  day. 

And  lying  down  at  night,  for  a  last  sleeping, 

Say  in  that  ear 
Which  hearkens  ever,  "  Lord,  within  thy  keeping, 

How  should  I  fear  ? 
And  when  to-morrow  brings  thee  nearer  still, 

Do  thou  thy  will." 

I  might  not  sleep  for  awe  ;  but  peaceful,  tender, 

My  soul  would  lie 
All  night  long  ;  and  when  the  morning  splendor 

Flashed  o'er  the  sky, 
I  think  that  I  could  smile,  —  could  calmly  say, 

"  It  is  his  day." 

But  if  a  wondrous  hand  from  the  blue  yonder, 
Held  out  a  scroll 


582  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

On  which  my  life  was  writ,  and  I  with  wonder 

Beheld  unroll 
To  a  long  century's  end  its  mystic  clew, 

What  should  I  do  ? 

What  could  I  do,  O  blessed  Guide  and  Master ! 

Other  than  this,  — 
Still  go  on  as  now,  not  slower,  faster, 

Nor  fear  to  miss 
The  road,  although  so  very  long  it  be, 

While  led  by  thee  ? 

Step  by  step,  feeling  thee  close  beside  me, 

Although  unseen  ; 
Through  thorns,  through  flowers,  whether  the  tempest 
hide  thee, 

Or  heavens  serene,  — 
Assured  thy  faithfulness  cannot  betray, 

Thy  love  decay. 

I  may  not  know  my  God  ;  no  hand  revealeth 

Thy  counsels  wise  ; 
Along  the  path  no  deepening  shadow  stealeth  ; 

No  voice  replies 
To  all  my  questioning  thought,  the  time  to  tell, 

And  it  is  well. 

Let  me  keep  on,  abiding  and  unfearing 

Thy  will  always  ; 
Through  a  long  century's  ripening  fruition, 

Or  a  short  day's  ; 
Thou  canst  not  come  too  soon  ;  and  I  can  wait 

If  thou  come  late  ! 


SONGS  OF  PEACE.  5^3 

O   FRIEND   OF   SOULS! 

(^Wze  wohl  ist  mir,  O  Freund  der  Seelen.) 

r^  FRIEND  of  souls !  how  blest  the  time 
^-^     When  in  thy  love  I  rest, 
When  from  my  weariness  I  climb 

E'en  to  thy  tender  breast ! 
The  night  of  sorrow  endeth  there, 

Thy  rays  outshine  the  sun. 
And  in  thy  pardon  and  thy  care 

The  Heaven  of  heavens  is  won. 

The  world  may  call  itself  my  foe, 

Or  flatter  and  allure : 
I  care  not  for  the  world,  I  go 

To  this  tried  Friend,  and  sure. 
And  when  life's  fiercest  storms  are  sent 

Upon  life's  wildest  sea, 
My  little  bark  is  confident, 

Because  it  holdeth  thee. 

The  law  may  threaten  endless  death 

Upon  the  dreadful  hill ; 
Straightway  from  its  consuming  breath, 

My  soul  mounts  higher  still. 
She  hastes  to  Jesus,  wounded,  slain, 

And  finds  in  him  her  home. 
Whence  she  shall  not  go  forth  again, 

And  where  no  death  can  come. 


_ «--i* 

584  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  do  not  fear  the  wilderness 

Where  thou  hast  been  before : 
Nay,  rather  would  I  daily  press 

After  thee,  near  thee,  more  ! 
Thou  art  my  strength,  on  thee  I  lean  ; 

My  heart  thou  makest  sing, 
And  to  thy  pastures  green  at  length 

Thy  chosen  flock  wilt  bring  ! 

To  others,  death  seems  dark  and  grim, 

But  not,  O  Lord,  to  me  : 
I  know  thou  ne'er  forsakest  him 

Who  puts  his  trust  in  thee. 
Nay,  rather  with  a  joyful  heart 

I  welcome  the  release 
From  this  dark  desert,  and  depart 

To  thy  eternal  peace ! 

1692.  Wolfgang  Christoelph  Dessler. 


<tf-o »    M^ 


iH— ^ 


SONGS    OF    TRIUMPH. 


iH— ^- 


SONGS    OF    TRIUMPH. 


3>»^C 


FLING   OUT   THE   BANNER! 

TIJ^LING  out  the  banner  !     Let  it  float 
-■-        Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide  ; 
The  sun  that  Hghts  its  shining  folds, 
The  cross  on  which  the  Saviour  died. 

FHng  out  the  banner  !     Angels  bend, 
In  anxious  silence,  o'er  the  sign  ; 

And  vainly  seek  to  comprehend 
The  wonder  of  the  love  divine. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Heathen  lands 
Shall  see  from  far  the  glorious  sight ; 

And  nations,  crowding  to  be  born, 
Baptize  their  spirits  in  its  light. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Sin-sick  souls, 
That  sink  and  perish  in  the  strife. 

Shall  touch  in  faith  its  radiant  hem, 
And  spring  immortal  into  life. 

Fling  out  the  banner !     Let  it  float 
Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide ; 

Our  glory  only  in  the  cross. 
Our  only  hope  the  Crucified. 


k 


588  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Wide  and  high, 
Seaward  and  skyward,  let  it  shine  : 

Nor  skill,  nor  might,  nor  merit,  ours  ; 
We  conquer  only  in  that  sign  ! 

1859.  Bishop  Doank. 


ABEL   ENTERING    HEAVEN. 

^  I  ^EN  thousand  times  ten  thousand  sung 
-*-       Loud  anthems  round  the  throne. 
When  lo  !  a  solitary  tongue 

Took  up  a  song  unknown  ; 
A  song  unknown  to  angel  ears, 
A  song  that  spoke  of  vanished  fears, 
Of  pardoned  sins  and  dried-up  tears. 

Not  one  of  all  the  heavenly  host 
Could  those  high  notes  attain, 
But  spirits  from  a  distant  coast 

United  in  the  strain. 
Till  he  who  first  began  the  song, 
To  sing  alone  not  suffered  long. 
Was  mingled  with  a  countless  throng. 

And  still  as  years  are  fleeting  by, 

The  angels  ever  bear 
Some  newly  ransomed  soul  on  high. 

To  swell  the  chorus  there  ; 
And  still  the  song  shall  louder  grow, 
Till  ail,  redeemed  from  sin  and  woe, 
To  that  fair  world  of  rapture  go. 


-^^ 


sojvgs  of  triumph.  589 

Oh  grant  me,  Lord,  a  golden  harp, 

And  tune  my  broken  voice, 
That  I  may  sing  of  troubles  sharp 

Exchanged  for  endless  joys  ! 
The  song  that  ne'er  was  heard  before 
A  sinner  reached  the  heavenly  shore, 
But  now  shall  sound  for  evermore ! 


THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  GATES. 

T    ITTLE  travellers  Zionward, 
-■— ^     Each  one  entering  into  rest, 
In  the  kingdom  of  your  Lord, 

In  the  mansions  of  the  blest ; 
There  to  welcome,  Jesus  waits, 

Gives  the  crowns  his  followers  win. 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates. 

Let  the  little  travellers  in ! 

Who  are  they  whose  little  feet, 

Pacing  life's  dark  journey  through. 
Now  have  reached  that  heavenly  seat, 

They  had  ever  kept  in  view  ? 
"  I  from  Greenland's  frozen  land  ; " 

"  I  from  India's  sultry  plain  ;  " 
"  I  from  Afric's  barren  sand  ;  " 

"  I  from  islands  of  the  main." 

"All  our  earthly  journey  past, 
Every  tear  and  pain  gone  by. 

Here  together  met  at  last, 
At  the  portals  of  the  sky  :  " 


^FfF-o- 


590  SOA'GS   OF  THE  SOUL. 

Each  the  welcome  "  Come  !  "  awaits, 
Conquerors  over  death  and  sin !  " 

Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates, 
Let  the  little  travellers  in ! 

1820,  James  Edmeston. 


THANK   GOD   THAT   TOWARDS   ETERNITY. 

{Gottlob  ein  Schritt  zur  EwigkeiL) 

npHANK  God,  that  towards  eternity 
-^       Another  step  is  won ! 
Oh,  longing  turns  my  heart  to  thee. 

As  time  flows  slowly  on, 
Thou  Fountain  whence  my  life  is  born. 
Whence  those  rich  streams  of  grace  are  drawn, 

That  through  my  being  run ! 

I  count  the  hours,  the  days,  the  years, 

That  stretch  in  tedious  line. 
Until,  O  Life,  that  hour  appears. 

When  at  thy  touch  divine, 
Whate'er  is  mortal  now  in  me 
Shall  be  consumed  for  aye  in  thee. 

And  deathless  life  be  mine  ! 

So  glows  thy  love  within  this  frame, 
That,  touched  with  keenest  fire. 

My  whole  soul  kindles  in  the  flame 
Of  one  intense  desire. 

To  be  in  thee,  and  thou  in  me. 

And  e'en  while  yet  on  earth,  to  be 
Still  pressing  closer,  nigher ! 


0—4* 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  59 ^ 

Oh  that  I  soon  might  thee  behold ! 

I  count  the  moments  o'er  ; 
Ah !  come,  ere  yet  my  heart  grows  cold, 

And  cannot  call  thee  more  ! 
Come  in  thy  glory,  for  thy  bride 
Hath  girt  her  for  the  holy  tide, 

And  waiteth  at  the  door ! 

And  since  thy  spirit  sheds  abroad 

The  oil  of  grace  in  me, 
And  thou  art  inly  near  me,  Lord, 

And  I  am  lost  in  thee. 
So  shines  in  me  the  living  light, 
And  steadfast  burns  my  lamp  and  bright,* 

To  greet  thee  joyfully  ! 

Come  !  is  the  voice  then  of  thy  bride, 

She  loudly  prays  thee  come  ! 
With  faithful  heart  she  long  has  cried, 

Come,  Jesus  !  quickly  come  ! 
Come,  O  my  Bridegroom  !  Lamb  of  God  ! 
Thou  knowest  I  am  thine,  dear  Lord ; 

Come  down  to  take  me  home ! 

Yet  be  the  hour  that  none  can  tell 

Left  wholly  to  thy  choice, 
Although  I  know  thou  lovest  it  well. 

That  I  with  heart  and  voice 
Should  bid  thee  come,  and  from  this  day 
Care  but  to  meet  thee  on  thy  way, 

And  at  thy  sight  rejoice  ! 


592  SO.VGS   OF   THE  SOUL, 

I  joy  that  from  thy  love  divine, 
No  power  can  part  me  now  ; 

That  I  may  dare  to  call  thee  mine, 
My  Friend,  my  Lord  avow  ; 

That  I,  O  Prince  of  life,  shall  be 

Made  wholly  one  in  heaven  with  thee  ; 
My  portion,  Lord,  art  thou  ! 

And  therefore  do  my  thanks  o'erflow, 
That  one  more  year  is  gone. 

And  of  this  time,  so  poor,  so  slow. 
Another  step  is  won  ; 

And  with  a  heart  that  may  not  wait. 

Toward  yonder,  distant,  golden  gate, 
I  journey  gladly  on. 

And  when  the  wearied  hands  grow  weak, 
And  wearied  knees  give  way. 

To  sinking  faith,  oh,  quickly  speak, 
And  make  thine  arm  my  stay ! 

That  so  my  heart  drink  in  new  strength, 

And  I  speed  on,  nor  feel  the  length, 
Nor  steepness  of  the  way. 

Then  on,  my  soul,  with  fearless  faith. 
Let  nought  thy  terror  move ; 

Nor  aught  that  earthly  pleasure  saith, 
E'er  tempt  thy  steps  to  rove  ; 

If  slow  thy  course  seem  o'er  the  waste. 

Mount  upwards  with  the  eagle's  haste 
On  winf!:s  of  tireless  love. 


SOJVGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  593 

O  Jesus  !  all  my  soul  hath  flown 

Already  up  to  thee, 
For  thou,  in  whom  is  love  alone, 

Hast  wholly  conquered  me. 
Farewell,  ye  phantoms,  day  and  year, 
Eternity  is  round  me  here. 

Since,  Lord,  I  live  in  thee ! 

1691.  A.  H.  Francke. 


O   CHRIST,    HOW   GOOD   AND   FAIR! 

(^Ach  Jesu,  wie  so  schon.') 

/^  CHRIST,  how  good  and  fair 
^-^     Will  be  my  portion,  where 
Thine  eyes  on  me  shall  rest, 
And  make  me  fully  blest ; 
When  from  this  narrow  earth 
To  thee  I  shall  spring  forth  ! 

What  joy,  unmixed  and  full. 
Thou  treasure  of  the  soul, 
When,  in  that  home  above. 
Thy  heart  speaks  out  its  love 
To  all  made  one  with  thee,  — 
My  brothers.  Lord,  and  me. 

What  glorious  light  will  shine 
Forth  from  thy  face  divine. 
Which  in  that  life  untold 
Then  first  I  shall  behold  ! 
How  will  thy  goodness  free 
Fill  me  with  ecstasy  ! 
38 


4 


^ 


-0 — H» 


594  sojVGs  of  the  soul. 

Lips,  whence  such  words  have  streamed ! 
Eyes,  whence  such  pity  beamed  ! 
Side,  wounded  once  for  me  ! 
All,  all  I  then  shall  see  ! 
With  reverent  rapture  greet 
Thy  pierced  hands  and  feet ! 

O  thou  poor  passing  earth  ! 
What  are  thy  treasures  worth 
Beside  those  heavenly  crowns, 
And  more  than  golden  thrones. 
Which  Christ  hath  treasured  there 
For  those  who  please  him  here  ? 

This  is  the  angels'  land. 
Where  all  the  blessed  stand  ; 
Here  I  hear  nought  but  singing, 
See  all  with  gladness  springing  ; 
Here  is  no  cross,  no  sorrow. 
No  parting  on  the  morrow  ! 

When  shall  that  joy  begin  ? 
When  wilt  thou  call  me  in  ? 
Thou  knowest !  but  my  feet 
Press  onward,  thee  to  meet ; 
And  my  heart,  day  by  day. 
Bears  me  to  thee  away ! 

1656.  Paul  Gerhardt. 

WHO    ARE   THESE   IN   BRIGHT   ARRAY? 

TT /"HO  are  these  in  bright  array? 

^  ^       This  innumerable  throng. 
Round  the  altar,  night  and  day, 
Tuning  their  triumphant  song  ? 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  595 

Worthy  is  the  Lamb  once  slain, 

Blessing,  honor,  glory,  power, 
Wisdom,  riches,  to  obtain  ; 

New  dominion  every  hour. 

These  through  fiery  trials  trod  ; 

These  from  great  affliction  came  ; 
Now  before  the  throne  of  God, 

Sealed  with  his  eternal  name : 
Clad  in  raiment  pure  and  white, 

Victor  palms  in  every  hand, 
Through  their  great  Redeemer's  might 

More  than  conquerors  they  stand. 

Hunger,  thirst,  disease  unknown, 

On  immortal  fruits  they  feed  ; 
Them,  the  Lamb  amidst  the  throne 

Shall  to  living  fountains  lead  : 
Joy  and  gladness  banish  sighs. 

Perfect  love  dispels  their  fears  ; 
And  for  ever  from  their  eyes 

God  shall  wipe  away  the  tears. 

1853.  James  Montgomery. 


THOUGH  I  WALK  THE  DOWNWARD  SHADE. 

npnOUGH  I  walk  the  downward  shade, 
■*-       Deepening  through  the  vale  of  death, 
Yet  will  I  not  be  afraid, 

But,  with  my  departing  breath, 


# 


SgO  SO.VGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

I  will  glory  in  my  God  ; 

In  my  Saviour  I  will  trust, 
Strengthened  by  his  staff  and  rod, 

While  this  body  falls  to  dust. 

Soon  on  wings,  on  wings  of  love, 

My  transported  soul  shall  rise. 
Like  the  home-returning  dove, 

Vanishing  through  boundless  skies  ; 
Thus  where  death  shall  be  no  more. 

Sin  nor  suffering  e'er  molest, 
All  my  days  of  mourning  o'er, 

In  his  presence  I  shall  rest. 

1853.  James  Montgomery. 


I   WOULD   NOT   LIVE   ALWAY. 

T  WOULD  not  live  alway,  —  live  alway  below  ! 

-*-     Oh,  no,  I'll  not  linger,  when  bidden  to  go. 

The  days  of  our  pilgrimage  granted  us  here, 

Are  enough  for  life's  woes,  full  enough  for  its  cheer. 

Would  I  shrink  from  the  path  which  the  prophets  of 

God, 
Apostles  and  martyrs,  so  joyfully  trod? 
While  brethren  and  friends  are  all  hasting  home, 
Like  a  spirit  unblessed  o'er  the  earth  would  I  roam  ? 

I  would  not  live  alway,  —  I  ask  not  to  stay. 
Where  storm  after  storm  rises  dark  o'er  the  way ; 
Where  seeking  for  peace,  we  but  hover  around. 
Like  the  patriarch's  bird,  and  no  resting  is  found : 


-d—fih 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  S97 

Where  Hope,  when  she  paints  her  gay  bow  in  the  air, 
Leaves  its  brilliance  to  fade  in  the  night  of  despair. 
And  joy's  fleeting  angel  ne'er  sheds  a  glad  ray. 
Save  the  gleam  of  the  plumage  that  bears  him  away. 

I  would  not  live  alway,  —  thus  fettered  by  sin ; 
Temptation  without,  and  corruption  within  : 
In  a  moment  of  strength,  if  I  sever  the  chain, 
Scarce  the  victory  is  mine,  ere  I'm  captive  again. 
E'en  the  rapture  of  pardon  is  mingled  with  fears, 
And  my  cup  of  thanksgiving  with  penitent  tears  : 
The  festival  trump  calls  for  jubilant  songs, 
But  my  spirit  her  own  miserere  prolongs. 

I  would  not  live  alway,  —  no,  welcome  the  tomb  ; 

Immortality's  lamp  burns  there  bright  'mid  the  gloom  ; 

There  too  is  the  pillow  where  Christ  bowed  his  head  ; 

Oh,  soft  are  the  slumbers  on  that  holy  bed. 

And  then  the  glad  dawn  soon  to  follow  that  night. 

When  the  sunrise  of  glory  shall  beam  on  my  sight, 

When  the  full  matin  song  as  the  sleepers  arise. 

To  shout  in  the  morning,  shall  peal  through  the  skies. 

Who,  who  would  live  alway,  away  from  his  God, 
Away  from  yon  heaven,  that  blissful  abode, 
Where  the  rivers  of  pleasure  flow  o'er  the  bright  plains, 
And  the  noontide  of  glory  eternally  reigns  ; 
Where  the  saints  of  all  ages  in  harmony  meet, 
Their  Saviour  and  brethren  transported  to  greet. 
While  the  songs  of  salvation  unceasingly  roll, 
And  the  smile  of  the  Lord  is  the  feast  of  the  soul ! 


iml.    0 0 — I* 

598  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

That  heavenly  music  !  what  is  it  I  hear  ? 

The  notes  of  the  harpers  ring  sweet  in  the  air : 

And  see,  soft  unfolding  those  portals  of  gold, 

The  King  all  arrayed  in  his  beauty  behold ! 

Oh  give  me,  oh  give  me  the  wings  of  a  dove ! 

Let  me  hasten  my  flight  to  those  mansions  above ! 

Ay,  'tis  now  that  my  soul  on  swift  pinions  would  soar, 

And  in  ecstasy  bid  earth  adieu  evermore. 

1824.  W.  A.  Muhlenberg. 


ABOVE   THE   STARS. 


'X/'E  golden  lamps  of  heaven,  farewell, 
-*-       With  all  your  feeble  light ! 
Farewell,  thou  ever-changing  moon, 
Pale  empress  of  the  night ! 

And  thou  refulgent  orb  of  day, 

In  brighter  flames  arrayed. 
My  soul  that  springs  beyond  thy  sphere. 

No  more  demands  thine  aid  ! 

Ye  stars  are  but  the  shining  dust 

Of  my  divine  abode. 
The  pavement  of  those  heavenly  courts, 

Where  I  shall  reign  with  God ! 

The  Father  of  eternal  light 
Shall  there  his  beams  display ; 

Nor  shall  one  moment's  darkness  mix 
With  that  unvaried  day ! 


HH— 0- 


SONGS   OF  TRIUMPH.  .  599 

No  more  the  drops  of  piercing  grief 

Shall  swell  into  mine  eyes, 
Nor  the  meridian  sun  decline, 

Amidst  those  brighter  skies  ! 

There  all  the  million  of  the  saints 

Shall  in  one  song  unite, 
And  each  the  bliss  of  all  shall  view, 

With  infinite  delight ! 

1755.  Philip  Doddridge. 

THEREFORE,   NOW,   A   LAST   GOOD-NIGHT. 

{From  the  Gerina?i^ 

THEREFORE,  now,  a  last  good-night ! 


T 


Sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  of  fire, 
Farewell  to  your  splendor  bright ! 
Higher  now  I  soar,  far  higher ; 
Where  there  is  such  glorious  day, 
Ye  will  vanish  quite  away  ! 

Weep  not  that  I  bid  farewell 

To  the  world  and  all  its  errors, 
Far  from  vanity  to  dwell, 

Far  from  darkness  and  its  terrors  ; 
Weep  not  that  I  take  my  flight 
To  the  land  of  endless  night ! 

Weep  not !  my  Redeemer  lives. 
High  above  dark  earth  ascending : 

Hope  her  heavenly  comfort  gives  ; 

Faith  stands  by,  her  shield  extending ; 

Love  eternal  whispers  near, 

"  Child  of  God,  no  longer  fear !  " 

1819.  MoRiTZ  Arndt. 


i'M\    0       0    l.qi 

600  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

MY   TIMES   ARE   IN   THY   HAND. 


M- 


Y  times  are  in  thy  hand  ! 
I  know  not  what  a  day 
Or  e'en  an  hour  may  bring  to  me, 
But  I  am  safe  while  trusting  thee, 
Though  all  things  fade  away. 
All  weakness,  I 
On  him  rely, 
Who  fixed  the  earth,  and  spread  the  starry  sky. 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand  ! 
Pale  poverty,  or  wealth, 
Corroding  care,  or  calm  repose, 
Spring's  balmy  breath,  or  winter's  snows, 
Sickness,  or  buoyant  health,  — 
Whate'er  betide, 
If  God  provide, 
'Tis  for  the  best,  I  wish  no  lot  beside ! 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand  ! 
Should  friendship  pure  illume. 
And  strew  my  path  with  fairest  flowers, 
Or  should  I  spend  life's  dreary  hours 
In  solitude's  dark  gloom  ? 
Thou  art  a  Friend, 
Till  time  shall  end, 
Unchangeably  the  same,  —  in  thee  all  beauties  blend. 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand ! 

Many  or  few  my  days, 
I  leave  with  thee,  —  this  only  pray, 
That  by  thy  grace,  I,  every  day 


4H--0- 


r«»H— 0- 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  6oi 

Devoting  to  thy  praise, 
May  ready  be 
To  welcome  thee, 
Whene'er  thou  comest  to  set  my  spirit  free ! 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand ! 
Howe'er  those  times  may  end, 
Sudden  or  slow,  my  soul's  release, 
'Midst  anguish,  frenzy,  or  in  peace, 
I'm  safe  with  Christ  my  Friend  ! 
If  he  is  nigh, 
Howe'er  I  die, 
'Twill  be  the  dawn  of  heavenly  ecstasy ! 

My  times  are  in  thy  hand  ! 
To  thee  I  can  intrust 
My  slumbering  clay,  till  thy  command 
Bids  all  the  dead  before  thee  stand, 
Awaking  from  the  dust. 
Beholding  thee. 
What  bhss  'twill  be 
With  all  thy  saints  to  spend  eternity ! 

To  spend  eternity 
In  heaven's  unclouded  light  ! 
From  sorrow,  sin,  and  frailty  free, 
Beholding,  and  resembling  thee ! 
O  too  transporting  sight ! 
Prospect  too  fair 
For  flesh  to  bear ! 
Haste,  haste,  my  Lord,  and  soon  transport  me  there  ! 
1849. 


6o2  so  AGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 


VITAL   SPARK   OF   HEAVENLY   FLAME. 

T  T'lTAL  spark  of  heavenly  flame, 

^       Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
Oh,  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying ! 
Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
Let  me  languish  into  life  ! 

Hark !  they  whisper  ;  angels  say, 
"  Sister-spirit,  come  away  !  " 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes  !  it  disappears  ! 

Heaven  opens  on  mine  eyes  !  mine  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring ! 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  !  I  mount !  I  fly  ! 

O  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ? 


IMMANUEL'S   LAND. 

•^  I  ^HE  sands  of  time  are  sinking, 
-■-       The  dawn  of  heaven  breaks. 
The  summer  morn  I've  sighed  for, 
The  fair,  sweet  morn  awakes  ! 


POPK. 


SOA'GS   OF   TRIUMPH.  603 

Dark,  dark  hath  been  the  midnight, 

But  dayspring  is  at  hand, 
And  glory,  glory  dwelleth 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 

There  the  red  rose  of  Sharon 

Unfolds  its  heartmost  bloom. 
And  fills  the  air  of  heaven 

With  ravishing  perfume. 
Oh,  to  behold  it  blossom, 

While  by  its  fragrance  fanned. 
Where  glory,  glory  dwelleth 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 


The  King  there  in  his  beauty, 

Without  a  veil,  is  seen  ; 
"  It  were  a  well-spent  journey. 

Though  seven  deaths  lay  between  ! 
The  Lamb,  with  his  fair  army, 

Doth  on  Mount  Zion  stand  ; 
And  glory,  glory  dwelleth 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 

O  Christ !  he  is  the  fountain. 

The  deep  sweet  well  of  love. 
The  streams  on  earth  I've  tasted, 

More  deep  I'll  drink  above. 
There  to  an  ocean's  fulness 

His  mercy  doth  expand  ; 
And  glory,  glory  dwelleth 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 


604  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

Fair  Anworth  by  the  Solway, 

To  me  thou  art  still  dear ; 
E'en  from  the  verge  of  heaven, 

I  drop  for  thee  a  tear. 
Oh,  if  one  soul  from  Anworth 

Meet  me  at  God's  right  hand, 
My  heaven  will  be  two  heavens 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 

I've  wrestled  on  towards  heaven 

'Gainst  storm,  and  wind,  and  tide  ; 
Now,  like  a  weary  traveller 

That  leaneth  on  his  guide, 
Amid  the  shades  of  evening, 

While  sinks  life's  lingering  sand, 
I  hail  the  glory  dawning 

From  Immanuel's  Land  ! 

With  mercy  and  with  judgment, 

My  web  of  time  he  wove  ; 
And  aye  the  dews  of  sorrow 

Were  lustred  with  his  love. 
I'll  bless  the  hand  that  guided, 

I'll  bless  the  heart  that  planned. 
When  throned  where  glory  dwelleth, 

In  Immanuel's  Land  ! 

The  Bride  eyes  not  her  garments, 
But  her  dear  Bridegroom's  face  ; 

I  will  not  gaze  at  glory, 
But  at  my  King  of  grace  ! 


HH— 0- 


0-H# 

SOA^GS  OF  TRIUMPH.  605 

Not  at  the  crown  he  giveth, 

But  on  his  pierced  hand  ; 
The  Lamb  is  all  the  glory 

Of  Immanuers  Land  ! 

Samuel  Rutherford. 


THE   LAND   O'  THE   LEAL. 

T'M  wearin'  awa',  Jean, 
-*-  Like  snaw-wraiths  in  thaw,  Jean  ; 
I'm  wearin'  awa' 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
There's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean  ; 
There's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  days  are  a'  fair, 
r  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 

Oh  dry  your  glistenin'  ee,  Jean  ; 
My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  Jean  ; 
An'  angels  beckon  me 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Ye  have  been  gude  an'  true,  Jean  ; 
Your  task's  near  ended  noo,  Jean  ; 
An'  ril  welcome  you 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 

Our  bonny  bairn's  there,  Jean  ; 
She  was  baith  gude  an'  fair,  Jean  ; 
An'  we  grudged  her  sair 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 


^H — 0- 


6o6  SO  AGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

But  sorrow's  sel'  wears  past,  Jean  ; 
All'  joys  are  coming  fast,  Jean, — 
The  joy  that's  aye  to  last 
r  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 


Our  friends  are  a'  gane,  Jean ; 
We've  lang  been  left  alane,  Jean ; 
We'll  a'  meet  again 

r  the  land  o'  the  leal! 
Then  fare  thee  well,  my  ain  Jean  ; 
This  warld's  cares  are  vain,  Jean ; 
We'll  meet,  an'  a'll  be  plain,  Jean, 

r  the  land  o'  the  leal ! 

Countess  of  Nairne. 


ST.      AGNES. 

TPVEEP  on  the  convent-roof  the  snows 
-'-^     Are  sparkling  to  the  moon  : 
My  breath  to  heaven  like  vapor  goes  : 

May  my  soul  follow  soon ! 
The  shadows  of  the  convent-towers 

Slant  down  the  snowy  sward, 
Still  creeping  with  the  creeping  hours 

That  lead  me  to  my  Lord  : 
Make  thou  my  spirit  pure  and  clear 

As  are  the  frosty  skies, 
Or  this  first  snow-drop  of  the  year 

That  in  my  bosom  lies. 


-0 — H^ 


^Vr-^ 


0    w. 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  607 

As  these  white  robes  are  soiled  and  dark, 

To  yonder  shining  ground  ; 
As  this  pale  taper's  earthly  spark, 

To  yonder  argent  round  ; 
So  shows  my  soul  before  the  Lamb, 

My  spirit  before  thee  ; 
So  in  mine  earthly  house  I  am, 

To  that  I  hope  to  be. 
Break  up  the  heavens,  O  Lord,  and  far, 

Through  all  yon  star-light  keen. 
Draw  me,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star. 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

He  lifts  me  to  the  golden  doors ; 

The  flashes  come  and  go  ; 
All  heaven  bursts  her  starry  floors. 

And  strews  her  lights  below. 
And  deepens  on  and  up !  the  gates 

Roll  back,  and  far  within 
For  me  the  Heavenly  Bridegroom  waits, 

To  make  me  pure  of  sin ! 
The  sabbaths  of  eternity. 

One  sabbath  deep  and  wide ; 
A  light  upon  the  shining  sea. 

The  Bridegroom  with  his  bride ! 

1842.  Alfred  Tennyson. 


6o8  SOA'GS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

IT   KINDLES  ALL   MY  SOUL. 
{Urit  me  patricB  decor ^ 

TT  kindles  all  my  soul, 
-*-     My  country's  loveliness  !     These  starry 
choirs 

That  watch  around  the  pole, 
And  the  moon's  tender  light,  and  heavenly  fires, 

Through  golden  halls  that  roll. 
O  chorus  of  the  night !  O  planets,  sworn 

The  music  of  the  spheres 
To  follow  !     Lovely  watchers,  that  think  scorn 

To  rest  till  day  appears  ! 
Me,  for  celestial  homes  of  glory  born,  — 

Why  here,  oh  why  so  long, 
Do  ye  behold  an  exile  from  on  high  .-* 

Here,  O  ye  shining  throng, 
With  lilies  spread  the  mound  where  I  shall  lie ! 

Here  let  me  drop  my  chain. 
And,  dust  to  dust  returning,  cast  away 

The  trammels  that  remain  ; 
The  rest  of  me  shall  spring  to  endless  day ! 

Casimir  of  Poland,  trans,  by  R.  C.  Trench. 


DE   GLORIA. 

i^Ad  perennis  vitce  fontem.') 

(Free  translation.) 

HERE  nor  waxing  moon  nor  waning, 


T 


Sun  nor  stars  in  courses  bright ; 
For  the  Lamb,  to  that  glad  city. 
Shines  an  everlasting  light : 


sojvgs  of  triumph.  609 

There  the  daylight  beams  for  ever, 
All  unknown  are  time  and  night. 

For  the  saints,  in  beauty  beaming. 

Shine  in  light  and  glory  pure  : 
Crowned  in  triumph's  flushing  honors, 

Joy  in  unison  secure  ; 
And  in  safety  tell  their  battles 

And  their  foes'  discomfiture. 

Freed  from  every  stain  of  evil, 

All  their  carnal  wars  are  done ; 
For  the  flesh  made  spiritual 

And  the  soul  agree  in  one  : 
Peace  unbroken  spreads  enjoyment, 

Sin  and  scandal  are  unknown. 


Here  they  live  in  endless  being : 

Passingness  has  passed  away : 
Here  they  bloom,  they  thrive,  they  flourish, 

For  decayed  is  all  decay : 
Lasting  energy  hath  swallowed 

Darkling  death's  malignant  sway. 

Though  each  one's  respective  merit 
Hath  its  varying  palm  assigned, 

Love  takes  all  as  his  possession, 

Where  his  power  hath  all  combined  :• 

So  that  all  that  each  possesses 
All  partake  in,  unconfined. 
39 


^^ 


i.qil     0 »    iPi 

6 10  ^-C^A^e^^-  6*/^  777£'  SOC/L. 

Christ  !  thy  soldier's  palm  of  honor, 

Unto  this,  thy  city  free. 
Lead  me,  when  my  warfare's  girdle 

I  shall  cast  away  from  me ! 
A  partaker  in  thy  bounty. 

With  thy  blessed  ones  to  be. 

Grant  me  vigor,  while  I  labor 

In  the  ceaseless  battle  pressed. 
That  thou  mayst,  the  conflict  over, 

Grant  me  everlasting  rest ; 
And  I  may  at  length  inherit 

Thee,  my  portion,  ever  blest ! 

1072.  Peter  DAMhANi,  trans,  by  Wackerbarth. 


MY   AIN   COUNTREE. 

T  AM  far  frae  my  hame,  an'  I'm  weary  oftenwhiles, 
■*-     For  the  langed-for  hame-bringing,  an'  my  Fath- 
er's welcome  smiles : 
I'll  ne'er  be  fu'  content  until  my  een  do  see 
The  gowden  gates  o'  heaven,  an'  my  ain  countree. 

The  earth  is  flecked  wi'  flowers,  many-tinted,  fresh,  an' 

gay, 
The  birdies  warble  blithely,  for  my  Father  made  them- 

sae  ; 
But  these  sichts  an'  these  soun's  will  be  naething  to 

me, 
When  I  hear  the  angels  singing  in  my  ain  countree. 


-0 — Hh 


SONGS   OF   TRIUMPH.  6ll 

I've  his  glide  word  of  promise,  that  some  gladsome 

day  the  King, 
To  his  ain  royal  palace,  his  banished  hame  will  bring  ; 
Wi'  een  an'  wi'  hearts  running  o'er,  we  shall  see 
The  King  in  his  beauty,  an'  our  ain  countree. 

My  sins  ha'  been  mony,  an'  my  sorrows  ha'  been  sair. 

But  there  they'll  ne'er  mair  vex  me,  ne'er  be  remem- 
bered mair ; 

His  bluid  hath  made  me  white,  his  hand  shall  dry 
mine  ee, 

When  he  brings  me  hame  at  last  to  my  ain  countree. 

Like  a  bairn  to  its  mither,  a  wee  birdie  to  its  nest, 
I  wad  fain  be  ganging  noo  to  my  Saviour's  breast ; 
For  he  gathers  in  his  bosom  witless,  worthless  lambs 

like  me. 
And  he  carries  them  himsel'  to  his  ain  countree. 

He's  faithful  that  hath  promised  ;  he'll  surely  come 

again  ; 
He'll  keep  his  tryst  wi'  me,  at  what  hour  I  dinna  ken  ; 
But  he  bids  me  still  to  watch,  an'  ready  aye  to  be 
To  gang  at  any  moment  to  my  ain  countree. 

So  I'm  watching,  aye  an'  singin'  o'  my  hame  as  I  wait. 
For  the  sounin'  o'  his  footfa'  this  side  the  gowden  gate. 
God  gie  his  grace  to  ilk  ane  wha  listens  noo  to  me. 
That  we  a'  may  gang  in  gladness  to  our  ain  countree. 


6l2  SOXGS   OF  THE   SOUL. 


SAFE   HOME,   SAFE   HOME   IN   PORT. 
{Fro7n  the  Greek.) 

O  APE  home,  safe  home  in  port ! 

^^     Rent  cordage,  shattered  deck, 

Torn  sails,  provisions  short, 
And  only  not  a  wreck : 
But,  oh,  the  joy  upon  the  shore 
To  tell  our  voyage-perils  o'er ! 

The  j3rize,  the  prize  secure ! 

The  athlete  nearly  fell ; 
Bare  all  he  could  endure. 
And  bare  not  always  well : 
But  he  may  smile  at  troubles  gone, 
Who  sets  the  victor-garland  on ! 

No  more  the  foe  can  harm  ! 

No  more  of  leaguered  camp, 
And  cry  of  night-alarm, 
And  need  of  ready  lamp  : 
And  yet  how  nearly  he  had  failed ! 
How  nearly  had  that  foe  prevailed ! 

The  lamb  is  in  the  fold. 

In  perfect  safety  penned  ; 
The  lion  once  had  hold, 

And  thought  to  make  an  end  : 
But  One  came  by  with  wounded  side, 
And  for  the  sheep  the  Shepherd  died ! 


-^ — BY 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  613 

The  exile  is  at  home ! 

O  nights  and  days  of  tears ! 
O  longings  not  to  roam  ! 

O  sins  and  doubts  and  fears  ! 
What  matter  now,  when,  so  men  say. 
The  King  has  wiped  those  tears  away ! 

O  happy,  happy  Bride ! 

Thy  widowed  hours  are  past, 
The  Bridegroom  at  thy  side. 
Thou  all  his  own  at  last ! 
The  sorrows  of  thy  former  cup, 
In  full  fruition  swallowed  up  ! 

830.  St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Nealb. 


THE   ENDLESS   ALLELUIA. 

{Alleluia  pits  edite  laudibus^ 

'  \  LLELUIA !    let    the   holy   sounds    of   cheerful 
•^-^  praises  ring, 

Freemen  of  the  heavenly  city,  join  in  sweetest  notes 
to  sing 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

In  the  everlasting  anthem,  while  the  hymning  choirs 

unite. 
Alleluia  shall  uplift  you  hence  to  realms  of  endless 

light. 

Alleluia  evermore  I 


6l4  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Voii,  in  God's  illustrious  city,  shall  a  ready  welcome 

greet, 
City  with  glad  songs  resounding,  where  the  echoes 

still  repeat 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

Of  that  happy  restoration  freely  gather  all  the  joys, 
To  the  Lord  ascribing  glory,  singing  with  melodious 
noise 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

Victors,   of   the   star-bespangled   fatherland   ye   now 
attain 

All  the  radiant  honors,  wherefore  peals  aloud  the  cease- 
less strain. 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

Thence  a  sound  of  noble  voices,  grandly  echoing,  rolls 

along. 
Telling  out  the  King's  high  praises  in  a  blithe  and 

merry  song. 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

There  is  rest  for  all  the  weary,  there  immortal  wine 

and  bread, 
Sweetly  luring  home  the  travellers,  plenteous  though 

they  all  be  fed. 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

Thee,  with  all  our  hearts  and  voices.  Maker  of  the 

world  we  praise, 
And  to  thy  deservM  honor  our  melodious  music  raise, 
Alleluia  evermore ! 


L^^f— 0- 


fr — ^ 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH,  615  ^ 

Thee,  O  Christ,  as  Lord  Almighty,  shall  thy  glorious 

praise  proclaim. 
By  our  gladsome  voices  chanted,  while  we  sing  to  thy 

dear  name, 

Alleluia  evermore ! 

8th  century.  From  the  Mozarabic  Breviary. 


HIGH   THE   ANGEL   CHOIRS   ARE   RAISING. 

{Astant  angeloTiim  chori.) 

TTIGH  the  angel  choirs  are  raising 
-■-  -*"     Heart  and  voice  in  harmony ; 
The  Creator  King  still  praising. 
Whom  in  beauty  there  they  see. 

Sweetest  strains  from  soft  harps  stealing ; 
Trumpets,  notes  of  triumph  pealing ; 
Radiant  wings,  and  white  stoles  gleaming, 
Up  the  steps  of  gfory  streaming  ; 
Where  the  heavenly  bells  are  ringing ; 
Holy,  holy,  holy  !  crying  ; 
For  all  earthly  care  and  sighing 
In  that  city  cease  to  be  ! 

Every  voice  is  there  harmonious. 
Praising  God  in  hymns  symphonious  ; 
Love  each  heart  with  light  unfolding, 
As  they  stand  in  peace  beholding 

There  the  triune  Deity  ! 
Whom  adore  the  seraphim. 

Aye  with  love  eternal  burning ; 


6l6  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Venerate  the  cherubim, 

To  their  Fount  of  honor  turning ; 
Whilst  angelic  thrones  adoring, 
Gaze  upon  his  majesty. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  that  region  ! 
And  how  fair  that  heavenly  legion, 

Where  thus  men  and  angels  blend ! 
Glorious  will  that  city  be, 
Full  of  deep  tranquillity, 

Light  and  peace  from  end  to  end ! 
All  the  happy  dwellers  there 

Shine  in  robes  of  purity. 

Keep  the  laws  of  charity. 

Bound  in  firmest  unity  ;  — 
Labor  finds  them  not,  nor  care. 

Ignorance  can  ne'er  perplex. 

Nothing  tempt  them,  nothing  vex  ; 

Joy  and  health  their  fadeless  blessing, 

Always  all  things  good  possessing  ! 

1471.  Thomas  a  Kempis. 


THE   DAYS   OF   HEAVEN. 

{Ad perennis  vitcB  fontem  ?ne?is  sitivit  arida.') 

TN  the  Fount  of  life  perennial  the  parched  heart  its 

-*■  thirst  would  slake. 

And  the  soul,  in  flesh  imprisoned,  longs  her  prison- 
walls  to  break,  — 

Exile,  seeking,  sighing,  yearning  in  her  fatherland  to 
wake. 


m—^ o—m] 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  617 

^  When  with  cares  oppressed,  and  sorrows,  only  groans 

her  grief  can  tell, 
Then  she  contemplates  the  glory  which  she  lost  when 

first  she  fell ; 
Present  evil  but  the  memory  of  the  vanished  good  can 

swell. 

Who  can    utter  what  tfie  pleasures    and   the   peace 

unbroken  are. 
Where  arise  the  pearly  mansions,  shedding  silvery  light 

afar. 
Festive  seats  and  golden  roofs,  which  ghtter  like  the 

evening  star ! 

Wholly  of  fair  stones  most  precious  are  those  radiant 
structures  made ; 

With  pure  gold,  like  glass  transparent,  are  those  shin- 
ing streets  inlaid  ; 

Nothing  that  defiles  can  enter,  nothing  that  can  soil  or 
fade. 

Stormy  winter,  burning  summer,  rage  within  those 

regions  never, 
But  perpetual  bloom  of  roses,  and  unfading  spring  for 

ever ; 
Lilies  gleam,  the  crocus  glows,  and  dropping  balms 

their  scents  deliver. 

Honey  pure  and  greenest  pastures  this  the  land  of 

promise  is  ; 
Liquid  odors  soft  distilling,  perfumes  breathing  on  the 

breeze  ; 
Fruits  immortal  cluster  always  on  the  leafy,  fadeless 

trees. 


■d— NhJ 


■^—r ^in 


6l8  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

There  no  moon  shines  chill  and  changing,  there  no 

stars  with  twinkling  ray, 
For  the  Lamb  of  that  blest  city  is  at  once  the  Sun  and 

Day; 
Night  and  time  are  known  no  longer,  day  shall  never 

fade  away. 

There  the  saints  like  suns  are  radiant,  like  the  sun  at 

dawn  they  glow  ; 
Crowned  victors  after  conflict,  all  their  joys  together 

flow, 
And  secure  they  count  the  battles  where  they  fought 

the  prostrate  foe. 

Every  stain  of  flesh  is  cleansed,  every  strife  is  left 

behind, 
Spiritual  are  their  bodies,  perfect  unity  of  mind  ; 
Dwelling  in  deep  peace  for  ever,  no  offence  or  grief 

they  find. 

Putting  off  their  mortal  vesture,  in  their  Source  their 

souls  they  steep,  — 
Truth  by  actual  vision  learning,  on  its  form  their  gaze 

they  keep,  — 
Drinking  from  the  living  Fountain  draughts  of  living 

waters  deep. 

Time,  with  all  its  alternations,  enters  not  those  hosts 

among  ; 
Glorious,  wakeful,  blest,  no  shade  of  chance  or  change 

o'er  them  is  flung  ; 
Sickness  cannot  touch  the  deathless,  nor  old  age  the 

ever  young. 


^^riO— 0- 


^-ai^C^^-   OF  TRIUMPH.  619 

There  their  being  is  eternal,  things  that  cease  have 
"  ceased  to  be  ; 

All  corruption  there  has  perished,  there  they  flourish 

strong  and  free  ; 
Thus  mortality  is  swallowed  up  of  life  eternally. 

Nought  from  them  is  hidden,  knowing  him  to  whom 

all  things  are  known, 
All  the  spirit's  deep  recesses,  sinless  to  each  other 

shown,  — 
Unity  of  will  and  purpose,  heart  and  mind  for  ever  one. 

Diverse  as  their  varied  labors,  the  rewards  to  each  that 

fall, 
But  Love,  what  she  loves  in  others,  evermore  her  own 

doth  call ; 
Thus  the  several  joy  of  each  becomes  the  common  joy 

of  all. 


Where  the  body  is,  there  ever  are  the  eagles  gathered, 
For  the  saints  and  for  the  angels  one  most  blessed 

feast  is  spread ; 
Citizens  of  either  country  living  on  the  self -same  bread. 

Ever  filled,  and  ever  seeking,  what  they  have  they  still 

desire. 
Hunger  there  shall  fret  them  never,  nor  satiety  shall 

tire,  — 
Still  enjoying  whilst  aspiring,  in  their  joy  they  still 

aspire. 


620  SOJVGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

There  the  new  song,  new  for  ever,  those  melodious 

voices  sing. 
Ceaseless    streams    of   fullest   music    through    those 

blessed  regions  ring. 
Crowned  victors  ever  bringing  praises  worthy  of  the 

King! 

Blessed  who  the  King  of  heaven  in  his  beauty  thus 
behold, 

And  beneath  his  throne  rejoicing  see  the  universe  un- 
fold,— 

Sun,  and  moon,  and  stars,  and  planets,  radiant  in  his 
light  unrolled  ! 

Christ,  the  Palm  of  faithful  victors,  of  that  city  make 

me  free  ; 
When  my  warfare  shall  be  ended  to  its  mansions  lead 

thou  me  ; 
Grant  me,  with  its  happy  inmates,  sharer  of  thy  gifts 

to  be! 

Let   thy  soldier,    yet    contending,   still   be  with    thy 

strength  supplied  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  deny  the  quiet  when  the  arms  are  laid 

aside, 
Make  me  meet  with  thee  for  ever  in  that  country  to 

abide ! 

1072.  Cardinal  Peter  Damiani,  trans,  by  Mrs.  Charles. 


0     \m 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  62 1 


THE   CELESTIAL   COUNTRY. 

{Hora  7iovissima,  temp  or  a  pessima^  sunt  vigilefnus.) 

^  I  ^HE  world  is  very  evil, 
-^       The  times  are  waxing  late  ; 
Be  sober,  and  keep  vigil, 

The  Judge  is  at  the  gate,  — 
The  Judge  that  comes  in  mercy, 

The  Judge  that  comes  with  might, 
To  terminate  the  evil, 

To  diadem  the  right. 
When  the  just  and  gentle  monarch 

Shall  summon  from  the  tomb, 
Let  man,  the  guilty,  tremble, 

For  Man,  the  God,  shall  doom  ! 

Arise,  arise,  good  Christian, 

Let  right  to  wrong  succeed  ; 
Let  penitential  sorrow 

To  heavenly  gladness  lead,  — 
To  the  light  that  hath  no  evening, 

That  knows  nor  moon  nor  sun,  — 
The  light  so  new  and  golden. 

The  light  that  is  but  one. 

And  when  the  Sole-begotten 

Shall  render  up  once  more 
The  kingdom  to  the  Father, 

Whose  own  it  was  before. 


622  SOA'GS    OF   THE  SOUL. 

Then  glory  yet  unheard  of 
Shall  shed  abroad  its  ray, 

Resolving  all  enigmas,  — 
An  endless  Sabbath-day. 


Then,  then  from  his  oppressors, 

The  Hebrew  shall  go  free, 
And  celebrate  in  triumph 

The  year  of  jubilee  ; 
And  the  sunlit  land,  that  recks  not 

Of  tempest  nor  of  fight. 
Shall  fold  within  its  bosom 

Each  happy  Israelite, — 
The  home  of  fadeless  splendor, 

Of  flowers  that  fear  no  storm. 
Where  they  shall  dwell  as  children, 

Who  here  as  exiles  mourn. 


'Midst  power  that  knows  no  limit, 

And  wisdom  free  from  bound. 
The  beatific  Vision 

Shall  glad  the  saints  around, — 
The  peace  of  all  the  faithful. 

The  calm  of  all  the  blest. 
Inviolate,  unvaried, 

Divinest,  sweetest,  best. 
Yes,  peace !  for  war  is  needless,  — 

Yes,  calm  !  for  storm  is  past, — 
And  goal  from  finished  labor, 

And  anchorage  at  last. 


0—m] 

SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  623 

That  peace,  —  but  who  may  claim  it  ?  * 

The  guileless  in  their  way, 
Who  keep  the  ranks  of  battle, 

Who  mean  the  thing  they  say,  — 
The  peace  that  is  for  heaven. 

And  shall  be  for  the  earth  ; 
The  palace  that  re-echoes 

With  festal  song  and  mirth ; 
The  garden  breathing  spices, 

The  paradise  on  high  ; 
Grace,  beautified  to  glory. 

Unceasing  minstrelsy. 


There  nothing  can  be  feeble. 

There  none  can  ever  mourn, 
There  nothing  is  divided, 

There  nothing  can  be  torn. 
'Tis  fury,  ill,  and  scandal, 

'Tis  peaceless  peace,  below : 
Peace  endless,  strifeless,  ageless, 

The  halls  of  Zion  know. 


O  happy,  holy  portion, 

Refection  for  the  blest, 
True  vision  of  true  beauty. 

Sweet  cure  of  all  distrest ! 
Strive,  man,  to  win  that  glory  ; 

Toil,  man,  to  gain  that  light ; 
Send  hope  before  to  grasp  it. 

Till  hope  be  lost  in  sight ; 


624  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Till  Jesus  gives  the  portion 
Those  blessed  souls  to  fill, - 

The  insatiate,  yet  satisfied, 
The  full,  yet  craving  still. 


That  fulness  and  that  craving 

Alike  are  free  from  pain. 
Where  thou,  'midst  heavenly  citizens, 

A  home  like  theirs  shall  gain. 
Here  is  the  warlike  trumpet ; 

There,  life  set  free  from  sin. 
When  to  the  last  great  supper 

The  faithful  shall  come  in  ; 
When  the  heavenly  net  is  laden 

With  fishes  many  and  great, 
(So  glorious  in  its  fulness. 

Yet  so  inviolate ;) 
And  perfect  from  unperfected. 

And  fallen  from  those  that  stand, 
And  the  sheep-flock  from  the  goat-herd 

Shall  part  to  either  hand. 


And  these  shall  pass  to  torment. 

And  those  shall  triumph  then. 
The  new,  peculiar  nation. 

Blest  number  of  blest  men, 
Jerusalem  demands  them  ; 

They  paid  the  price  on  earth. 
And  now  shall  reap  the  harvest 

In  bHssfulness  and  mirth  ; 


SOA'GS   OF   TRIUMPH.  62$ 

The  glorious,  holy  people, 

Who  evermore  relied 
Upon  their  Chief  and  Father, 

The  King,  the  Crucified,  — 
The  sacred,  ransomed  number, 

Now  bright  with  endless  sheen. 
Who  made  the  cross  their  watchword 

Of  Jesus  Nazarene, 
Who  (fed  with  heavenly  nectar 

Where  soul-like  odors  play) 
Draw  out  the  endless  leisure 

Of  that  long,  vernal  day. 


And  through  the  sacred  lilies, 

And  flowers  on  every  side, 
The  happy,  dear-bought  people 

Go  wandering  far  and  wide  ; 
Their  breasts  are  filled  with  gladness, 

Their  mouths  are  tuned  to  praise. 
What  time,  now  safe  for  ever. 

On  former  sins  they  gaze : 
The  fouler  was  the  error. 

The  sadder  was  the  fall, 
And  ampler  are  the  praises 

Of  him  who  pardoned  all. 


Their  one  and  only  anthem. 
The  fulness  of  his  love. 

Who  gives,  instead  of  torment, 
Eternal  joys  above, — 
40 


626  SONGS   OF   THE  SOUL. 

Instead  of  torment,  glory  ; 

Instead  of  death,  that  life 
Wherewith  your  happy  country, 

True  Israelites,  is  rife ! 


Brief  life  is  here  our  portion. 

Brief  sorrow,  short-lived  care  ; 
The  life  that  knows  no  ending, 

The  tearless  life,  is  there. 
Oh,  happy  retribution  ;  — 

Short  toil,  eternal  rest ; 
For  mortals,  and  for  sinners, 

A  mansion  with  the  blest ; 
That  we  should  look,  poor  wanderers, 

To  have  our  home  on  high  ; 
That  worms  should  seek  for  dwelling 

Beyond  the  starry  sky  ! 
To  all  one  happy  guerdon 

Of  one  celestial  grace  ; 
For  all,  for  all,  who  mourn  their  fall. 

Is  one  eternal  place. 


And  martyrdom  hath  roses 

Upon  that  heavenly  ground  ; 
And  white  and  virgin  lilies 

For  virgin-souls  abound. 
There  grief  is  turned  to  pleasure,  — 

Such  pleasure  as  below 
No  human  voice  can  utter. 

No  human  heart  can  know ; 


■ 0— Hfc 

SOJVGS  OF  TRIUMPH,  627 

And  after  fleshly  scandal, 

And  after  this  world's  night, 
And  after  storm  and  whirlwind. 

Is  calm,  and  joy,  and  light. 

And  now  we  fight  the  battle. 

But  then  shall  wear  the  crown 
Of  full,  and  everlasting, 

And  passionless  renown  : 
But  now  we  watch  and  struggle, 

And  now  we  live  in  hope. 
And  Sion  in  her  anguish 

With  Babylon  must  cope  ; 
But  he,  whom  now  we  trust  in. 

Shall  then  be  seen  and  known> 
And  they  that  know  and  see  him 

Shall  have  him  for  their  own. 

The  miserable  pleasures 

Of  the  body  shall  decay ; 
The  bland  and  flattering  struggles 

Of  the  flesh  shall  fade  away ; 
And  none  shall  there  be  jealous. 

And  none  shall  there  contend  ; 
Fraud,  clamor,  guile,  what  say  I  ? 

All  ill,  all  ill  shall  end ! 

And  there  is  David's  fountain, 

And  life  in  fullest  glow  ; 
And  there  the  light  is  golden, 

And  milk  and  honey  flow,  — 


^^-^^ 


628  sojvgs  of  the  soul. 

The  light  that  hath  no  evening, 
The  health  that  hath  no  sore, 

The  life  that  hath  no  ending, 
But  lasteth  evermore. 

There  Jesus  shall  embrace  us, 

There  Jesus  be  embraced,  — 
That  spirit's  food  and  sunshine 

Whence  earthly  love  is  chased. 
Amidst  the  happy  chorus, 

A  place,  however  low, 
Shall  show  him  us,  and,  showing. 

Shall  satiate  evermo. 

By  hope  we  struggle  onward  ; 

While  here  we  must  be  fed 
By  milk,  as  tender  infants. 

But  there  by  Living  Bread. 
The  night  was  full  of  terror. 

The  morn  is  bright  with  gladness  ; 
The  cross  becomes  our  harbor. 

And  we  triumph  after  sadness. 

And  Jesus  to  his  true  ones 

Brings  trophies  fair  to  see  ; 
And  Jesus  shall  be  loved,  and 

Beheld  in  Galilee, — 
Beheld,  when  morn  shall  waken, 

And  shadows  shall  decay. 
And  each  true-hearted  servant 

Shall  shine  as  doth  the  day ; 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  629 

And  every  ear  shall  hear  it,  — 

''  Behold  thy  Kijtgs  arrayy 
Behold  thy  God  ijt  beauty : 

The  Law  hath  passed  away  !  '* 

Yes  !  God,  my  King  and  Portion, 

In  fulness  of  thy  grace, 
We  then  shall  see  for  ever. 

And  worship  face  to  face. 
Then  Jacob  into  Israel, 

From  earthlier  self  estranged, 
And  Leah  into  Rachel, 

For  ever  shall  be  changed  ; 
Then  all  the  halls  of  Syon 

For  aye  shall  be  complete. 
And  in  the  land  of  beauty 

All  things  of  beauty  meet. 

For  thee,  O  dear,  dear  country. 

Mine  eyes  their  vigils  keep  ; 
For  very  love,  beholding 

Thy  happy  name,  they  weep. 
The  mention  of  thy  glory 

Is  unction  to  the  breast. 
And  medicine  in  sickness. 

And  love,  and  life,  and  rest. 

O  one,  O  onely  mansion  ! 

O  paradise  of  joy  ! 
Where  tears  are  ever  banished, 

And  smiles  have  no  alloy, 


630  SONGS  OF   THE   SOUL. 

Beside  thy  living  waters 

All  plants  are,  great  and  small, 
The  cedar  of  the  forest, 

The  hyssop  of  the  wall ; 
With  jaspers  glow  thy  bulwarks. 

Thy  streets  with  emeralds  blaze, 
The  sardius  and  the  topaz 

Unite  in  thee  their  rays  ; 
Thine  ageless  walls  are  bonded 

With  amethyst  unpriced  ; 
Thy  saints  build  up  the  fabric, 

And  the  corner-stone  is  Christ. 


The  cross  is  all  thy  splendor ; 

The  Crucified,  thy  praise  : 
His  laud  and  benediction 

Thy  ransomed  people  raise  : 
"  yesus,  the  Gem  of  Beauty, 
^  True  God  a7td  Man"  they  sing  ; 
"  The  never-failing  Garden, 

The  ever -golden  Ring  ; 
The  Door,  the  Pledge,  the  Husband^ 

The  Guardian  of  his  Court, 
The  Day-star  of  Salvation, 

The  Porter  and  the  Port !  '* 


Thou  hast  no  shore,  fair  ocean ! 

Thou  hast  no  time,  bright  day ! 
Dear  fountain  of  refreshment 

To  pilgrims  far  away ! 


■4H — 0- 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH,  63 1 

Upon  the  Rock  of  Ages 

They  raise  the  holy  tower  ; 
Thine  is  the  victor's  laurel, 

And  thine  the  golden  dower ! 

Thou  feel'st,  in  mystic  rapture, 

O  Bride,  that  know'st  no  guile, 
The  Prince's  sweetest  kisses, 

The  Prince's  loveliest  smile ; 
Unfading  lilies,  bracelets 

Of  living  pearl,  thine  own  ; 
The  Lamb  is  ever  near  thee. 

The  Bridegroom,  thine  alone. 
The  Crown  is  he  to  guerdon, 

The  Buckler  to  protect. 
And  he  himself  the  Mansion, 

And  he  the  Architect. 

The  only  art  thou  needest,  — 

Thanksgiving  for  thy  lot  ; 
The  only  joy  thou  seekest, — 

The  life  where  death  is  not. 
And  all  thine  endless  leisure, 

In  sweetest  accents,  sings 
The  ill  that  was  thy  merit, 

The  wealth  that  is  thy  King's ! 

Jerusalem,  the  Golden, 

With  milk  and  honey  blest, 
Beneath  thy  contemplation 

Sink  heart  and  voice  opprest. 


632  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

I  know  not,  oh,  I  know  not, 
What  social  joys  are  there ! 

What  radiancy  of  glory, 

What  light  beyond  compare. 

And  when  I  fain  would  sing  them, 
My  spirit  fails  and  faints  ; 

And  vainly  would  it  image 
The  assembly  of  the  saints. 

They  stand,  those  halls  of  Syon, 

Conjubilant  with  song, 
And  bright  with  many  an  angel. 

And  all  the  martyr-throng ; 
The  Prince  is  ever  in  them, 

The  daylight  is  serene  ; 
The  pastures  of  the  blessed 

Are  decked  in  glorious  sheen. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David, 

And  there,  from  care  released, 
The  song  of  them  that  triumph, 

The  shout  of  them  that  feast ; 
And  they  who,  with  their  Leader, 

Have  conquered  in  the  fight. 
For  ever,  and  for  ever. 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  white ! 

O  holy,  placid  harp-notes 
Of  that  eternal  hymn  ! 

O  sacred,  sweet  refection, 
And  peace  of  seraphim  ! 


^ff-O- 


^H — 0- 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  633 

O  thirst,  for  ever  ardent, 

Yet  evermore  content ! 
O  true,  peculiar  vision 

Of  God  cunctipotent ! 
Ye  know  the  many  mansions, 

For  many  a  glorious  name, 
And  divers  retributions, 

That  divers  merits  claim  ; 
For,  'midst  the  constellations 

That  deck  our  earthly  sky, 
This  star  than  that  is  brighter,  — 

And  so  it  is  on  high. 


Jerusalem,  the  glorious  ! 

The  glory  of  the  elect ! 
O  dear  and  future  vision 

That  eager  hearts  expect ! 
Even  now  by  faith  I  see  thee, 

Even  here  thy  walls  discern  ; 
To  thee  my  thoughts  are  kindled, 

And  strive,  and  pant,  and  yearn. 


Jerusalem  the  onely, 

That  look' St  from  heaven,  below, 
In  thee  is  all  my  glory. 

In  me  is  all  my  woe  ; 
And  though  my  body  may  not, 

My  spirit  seeks  thee  fain. 
Till  flesh  and  earth  return  me 

To  earth  and  flesh  again. 


634  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

Oh,  none  can  tell  thy  bulwarks, 

How  gloriously  they  rise ! 
Oh,  none  can  tell  thy  capitals 

Of  beautiful  device ! 
Thy  loveliness  oppresses 

All  human  thought  and  heart ; 
And  none,  O  Peace,  O  Syon, 

Can  sing  thee  as  thou  art ! 

New  mansion  of  new  people. 

Whom  God's  own  love  and  light 
Promote,  increase,  make  holy, 

Identify,  unite ! 
Thou  City  of  the  Angels  ! 

Thou  City  of  the  Lord ! 
Whose  everlasting  music 

Is  the  glorious  decachord ! 

And  there  the  band  of  prophets 

United  praise  ascribes, 
And  there  the  twelve-fold  chorus 

Of  Israel's  ransomed  tribes, 
The  lily-beds  of  virgins. 

The  rose's  martyr-glow, 
The  cohort  of  the  Fathers 

Who  kept  the  faith  below. 

And  there  the  Sole-begotten 
Is  Lord  in  equal  state  ;  — 

He,  Judah's  mystic  Lion  ; 
He,  Lamb  Immaculate. 


-0~4H 


-tH— 0- 


^a-^ 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  635 

O  fields  that  know  no  sorrow ! 

O  state  that  fears  no  strife ! 
O  princely  bowers  !  O  land  of  flowers  ! 

O  home,  and  realm  of  life  ! 


Jerusalem,  exulting 

On  that  securest  shore, 
I  hope  thee,  wish  thee,  sing  thee. 

And  love  thee  evermore ! 
I  ask  not  for  my  merit, 

I  seek  not  to  deny 
My  merit  is  destruction, 

A  child  of  wrath  am  I ; 
But  yet  with  Faith  I  venture, 

And  Hope  upon  my  way  ; 
For  those  perennial  guerdons 

I  labor  night  and  day. 


The  best  and  dearest  Father, 

Who  made  me  and  who  saved, 
Bore  with  me  in  defilement. 

And  from  defilement  laved. 
When  in  his  strength  I  struggle. 

For  very  joy  I  leap, 
When  in  my  sin  I  totter, 

I  weep,  or  try  to  weep  ; 
But  grace,  sweet  grace  celestial. 

Shall  all  its  love  display. 
And  David's  royal  fountain 

Purge  every  sin  away. 


■«— +^e 


636  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

O  mine,  my  golden  Syon  ! 

Oh,  lovelier  far  than  gold  ! 
With  laurel-girt  battalions, 

And  safe,  victorious  fold  ! 
O  sweet  and  blessed  country, 

Shall  I  ever  see  thy  face  ? 

0  sweet  and  blessed  country. 
Shall  I  ever  win  thy  grace  ? 

1  have  the  hope  within  me 

To  comfort  and  to  bless  ! 
Shall  I  ever  win  the  prize  itself  ? 
Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,  yes  ! 

Exult,  O  dust  and  ashes  ! 

The  Lord  shall  be  thy  part ; 
His  only,  his  for  ever, 

Thou  shall  be,  and  thou  art  I 
Exult,  O  dust  aitd  ashes  ! 

The  Lord  shall  be  thy  part ; 
His  07ily,  his  for  ever, 

Thou  shalt  be,  a7id  thou  art ! 

"45-  Bernard  of  Clugny,  trans,  by  J.  M.  Neale, 


O   MOTHER   DEAR,   JERUSALEM. 

r\  MOTHER  dear,  Jerusalem  ! 
^^     When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end, 
Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see  ? 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  637 

O  happy  harbor  of  God's  saints  ! 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 
In  thee  no  sorrows  can  be  found, 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

In  thee  no  sickness  is  at  all. 

No  hurt,  nor  any  sore ; 
There  is  no  death  nor  ugly  sight. 

But  life  for  evermore. 
No  dimmish  clouds  o'ershadow  thee. 

No  cloud  nor  darksome  night ; 
But  every  soul  shines  as  the  sun. 

For  God  himself  gives  light. 

There,  lust  nor  lucre  cannot  dwell, 

There  envy  bears  no  sway  ; 
There  is  no  hunger,  thirst,  nor  heat. 

But  pleasure  every  way. 
Jerusalem  !  Jerusalem  ! 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
Oh  that  my  sorrows  had  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see ! 

No  pains,  no  pangs,  no  grieving  grief. 

No  woful  wight,  is  there ; 
No  sigh,  no  sob,  no  cry,  is  heard ; 

No  well-away,  no  fear. 
Jerusalem  the  city  is 

Of  God,  our  King  alone  ; 
The  Lamb  of  God,  the  light  thereof, 

Sits  there  upon  his  throne. 


^ffF- -»- 


638  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Ah,  God,  that  I  Jerusalem 

With  speed  may  go  behold  ! 
For  why  ?  the  pleasures  there  abound 

With  tongue  cannot  be  told. 
Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 

With  carbuncles  do  shine, 
With  jasper,  pearl,  and  chrysolite, 

Surpassing  pure  and  fine. 

Thy  houses  are  of  ivory, 

Thy  windows  crystal  clear  ; 
Thy  streets  are  laid  with  beaten  gold,  — 

There  angels  do  appear. 
Thy  walls  are  made  of  precious  stones, 

Thy  bulwarks  diamond  square  ; 
Thy  gates  are  made  of  Orient  pearl,  — 

O  God,  if  I  were  there ! 

Within  thy  gates  no  thing  can  come 

That  is  not  passing  clean  : 
No  spider's  web,  no  dirt,  no  dust, 

No  filth,  may  there  be  seen. 
Jehovah,  Lord,  now  come  away. 

And  end  my  grief  and  plaints  ; 
Take  me  to  thy  Jerusalem, 

And  place  me  with  thy  saints, 

Who  there  are  crowned  with  glory  great. 

And  see  God  face  to  face ; 
They  triumph  still,  and  aye  rejoice, — 

Most  happy  is  their  case. 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  639 

But  we,  that  are  in  banishment, 

Continually  do  moan  ; 
We  sigh,  we  mourn,  we  sob,  we  weep,  — 

Perpetually  we  groan. 

Our  sweetness  mixed  is  with  bitter  gall, 

Our  pleasure  is  but  pain, 
Our  joys  not  worth  the  looking  on, — 

Our  sorrows  aye  remain. 
But  there  they  live  in  such  delight, 

Such  pleasure  and  such  play, 
That  unto  them  a  thousand  years 

Seem  but  as  yesterday. 

O  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see.'^ 
Thy  King  sitting  upon  his  throne. 

And  thy  felicity } 
Thy  vineyards  and  thine  orchards  are 

So  wonderful  and  fair. 
And  furnished  with  trees  and  fruits 

Most  beautiful  and  rare. 


Thy  gardens  and  thy  goodly  walks 

Continually  are  green  ; 
There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 
There  cinnamon  and  sugar  grow, 

There  nard  and  balm  abound  ; 
No  tongue  can  tell,  no  heart  can  think. 

The  pleasures  there  are  found. 


% 


»+ — 0 — — 

640  SONGS  OF   THE  SOUL. 

There  nectar  and  ambrosia  spring, 

There  musk  and  civet  sweet  ; 
There  many  a  fair  and  dainty  drug 

Are  trod  down  under  feet. 
Quite  through  the  streets,  with  pleasant  sound, 

The  flood  of  life  doth  flow  ; 
Upon  the  banks,  on  every  side, 

The  trees  of  life  do  grow. 


These  trees,  each  month,  yield  ripened  fruit, 

For  evermore  they  spring  ; 
And  all  the  nations  of  the  world 

To  thee  their  honors  bring. 
Jerusalem,  God's  dwelling-place. 

Full  sore  I  long  to  see  ; 
Oh  that  my  sorrows  had  an  end. 

That  I  might  dwell  in  thee ! 

There  David  stands  with  harp  in  hand, 

As  master  of  the  queir  ; 
A  thousand  times  that  man  were  blessed 

That  might  his  music  hear. 
There  Mary  sings  Magnificat^ 

With  tones  surpassing  sweet ; 
And  all  the  virgins  bear  their  part, 

Singing  about  her  feet. 

Te  Deiim  doth  St.  Ambrose  sing, 

St.  Austin  doth  the  like  ; 
Old  Simeon  and  Zacharie 

Have  not  their  songs  to  seek. 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.         '  64 1 

There  Magdalene  hath  left  her  moan. 

And  cheerfully  doth  sing, 
With  all  blest  saints  whose  harmony 

Through  every  street  doth  ring. 

Jerusalem  !  Jerusalem  ! 

Thy  joys  fain  would  I  see  ; 
Come  quickly,  Lord,  and  end  my  grief, 

And  take  me  home  to  thee ! 
Oh  paint  thy  name  in  my  forehead, 

And  take  me  hence  away. 
That  I  may  dwell  with  thee  in  bliss, 

And  sing  thy  praises  aye  ! 

Jerusalem,  thrice  happy  seat ! 

Jehovah's  throne  on  high  ! 
O  sacred  city,  queen,  and  wife 

Of  Christ  eternally ! 

0  comely  queen,  with  glory  clad. 
With  honor  and  degree. 

All  fair  thou  art,  exceeding  bright,  — 
No  spot  there  is  in  thee ! 

1  long  to  see  Jerusalem, 

The  comfort  of  us  all ; 
For  thou  art  fair  and  beautiful,  — 

None  ill  can  thee  befall. 
In  thee,  Jerusalem,  I  say. 

No  darkness  dare  appear  ; 
No  night,  no  shade,  no  winter  foul,  — 

No  time  doth  alter  there. 
41 


0—i-lp 

642  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

No  candle  needs,  no  moon  to  shine, 

No  glittering  stars  to  light ; 
For  Christ,  the  King  of  Righteousness, 

There  ever  shineth  bright. 
The  Lamb  unspotted,  white  and  pure, 

To  thee  doth  stand  in  lieu 
Of  light,  —  so  great  the  glory  is 

Thine  heavenly  King  to  view. 

He  is  the  King  of  kings,  beset 

In  midst  his  servants'  sight  ; 
And  they,  his  happy  household,  all 

Do  serve  him  day  and  night. 
There,  there  the  queir  of  angels  sing ; 

There  the  supernal  sort 
Of  citizens,  which  hence  are  rid 

From  dangers  deep,  do  sport. 

There  be  the  prudent  prophets  all, 

The  apostles,  six  and  six. 
The  glorious  martyrs  in  a  row, 

And  confessors  betwixt. 
There  doth  the  crew  of  righteous  men 

And  matrons  all  consist ; 
Young  men  and  maids,  that  here  on  earth 

Their  pleasures  did  resist. 

The  sheep  and  lambs,  that  hardly  'scaped 

The  snares  of  death  and  hell, 
Triumph  in  joy  eternally. 

Whereof  no  tongue  can  tell ; 


SONGS  OF  TRIUMPH.  643 

And  though  the  glory  of  each  one 

Doth  differ  in  degree, 
Yet  is  the  joy  of  all  alike 

And  common,  as  we  see. 

There  love  and  charity  do  reign, 

And  Christ  is  all  in  all, 
Whom  they  most  perfectly  behold 

In  joy  celestial. 
They  love,  they  praise,  they  praise,  they  love  ; 

They  "  Holy,  holy  !  "  cry  ; 
But  neither  toil,  nor  faint,  nor  end, 

But  laud  continually. 

Oh,  happy  thousand  times  were  I, 

If,  after  wretched  days, 
I  might  with  listening  ears  conceive 

Those  heavenly  songs  of  praise. 
Which  to  the  eternal  King  are  sung 

By  happy  wights  above,  — 
By  saved  souls  and  angels  sweet, 

Who  love  the  God  of  love ! 

Oh,  passing  happy  here  my  state, 

Might  I  be  worthy  found 
To  wait  upon  my  God  and  King, 

His  praises  there  to  sound  ; 
And  to  enjoy  my  Christ  above. 

His  favor  and  his  grace. 
According  to  his  promise  made. 

Which  I  here  interlace. 


644  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL. 

"  O  Father  dear,"  quoth  he,  "  let  them 

Which  thou  hast*  put  of  old 
To  me,  be  there  where,  lo,  I  am, 

Thy  glory  to  behold  ; 
Which  I  with  thee,  before  the  world 

Was  made,  in  perfect  wise 
Have  had,  from  whence  the  fountain  great 

Of  glory  doth  arise." 

Again  :  "  If  any  man  will  serve, 

Then  let  him  follow  me  ; 
For  where  I  am,  be  thou  right  sure 

There  shall  my  servant  be." 
And  still :  "  If  any  man  love  me, 

Him  loves  my  Father  dear ; 
Whom  I  do  love,  to  him  myself 

In  glory  will  appear." 

Lord,  take  away  my  misery, 

That  there  I  may  behold 
With  thee,  in  thy  Jerusalem, 

What  here  cannot  be  told. 
And  so  in  Zion  see  my  King, 

My  Love,  my  Lord,  my  All  ; 
Whom  now  as  in  a  glass  I  see, 

There  face  to  face  I  snail. 


Oh,  blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart ! 

Their  Sovereign  they  shall  see ; 
And  the  most  holy  heavenly  host, 

Who  of  his  household  be  ! 


i662. 


SONGS   OF   TRIUMPH.  645 

O  Lord,  with  speed  dissolve  my  bands, 

These  gins  and  fetters  strong ; 
For  I  have  dwelt  within  the  tents 

Of  Kedar  over-long. 

Yet  search  me,  Lord,  and  find  me  out, 

Fetch  me  thy  fold  unto, 
That  all  thy  angels  may  rejoice 

While  all  thy  will  I  do. 
O  Mother  dear,  Jerusalem, 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee } 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end,  — 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see } 

Yet  once  again  I  pray  thee.  Lord, 

To  quit  me  from  all  strife,  * 

That  to  thine  hill  I  may  attain. 

And  dwell  there  all  my  life. 
With  cherubims  and  seraphims. 

And  holy  souls  of  men. 
To  sing  thy  praise,  O  God  of  Hosts, 

For  ever  and  Amen  ! 


^tt— ^- 


<H — «- 


-0 — HI: 


INDEXES. 


<H — ^ 


-^ — Hy 


INDEX    OF    SUBJECTS. 


PAGE 

Matin  and  Vesper  Songs       ^ 

The  Trinity 37 

Holy  Tides 79 

Advent ^^ 

Christmas ^^ 

Easter ^°4 

Sunday 121 

Baptism ^26 

Holy  Communion 130 

Second  Advent ^43 

The  Cross 161 

Sorrow 201 

Out  of  the  Depths •     •    •  249 

Aspiration 297 

Faith 335 

Hope 373 

Courage 4^9 

Love     . 44^ 

Praise  and  Thanksgiving           481 

Patience 5^9 

Peace ....  555 

Triumph 5^5 


^ 


-^-4*1 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


LATIN. 

PAGE 

Adam  of  St.  Victor     .   8i,  119,  1815,  436 

Bernard  of  Clugny 621 

Casimir  of  Poland 608 

Charlemagne      .......         74 

Godescalcus 52 

Jacobus  de  Benedictus  ....  178 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots      ....      283 

Prudentius 240 

Robert  II.  of  France 76 

St.  Ambrose 72 

St.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux    188,  190,  462, 
471,  476 

St.  Francis  Xavier 477 

St.  Hilary  of  Aries 16 

St-  Hildebert 41 

St.  Hildegarde  of  Rupertsberg  .  77 
St.  Peter  Damiani  .  .  .  255,  608,  616 
St.  Thomas  i  Kempis      ....       615 

St.  Thomas  Aquinas 130 

Thomas  of  Celano 155 

Venantius  Fortunatus      .     m,  182,  183 

GREEK. 


Clement  of  Alexandria 

Ephraem  Syrus 

St.  Anatolius 

St.  Andrew  of  Crete  .  .  . 
St.  John  Damascene,  39,  92,  i 
St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium  . 

St.  Methodius  I 

St.  Metrophanes  of  Smyrna 
St.  Stephen  the  Sabalte  .    . 
St.  Theodore  of  the  Studium 
Theocristus  of  the  Studium 


34 
•  134 
293, 416 
438,  612 
415 
40 
196 
146 
295 


GERMAN. 

PAGE 

Arndt,  Moritz 599 

Breithaupt 468 

Claudius 30 

Dessler,  Wolfgang  Christolph  .     .      583 

Drewes 286 

Fouqu^,  De  La  Motte     .     .     .350,  420 

Francke 590 

Gerhardt,  Paul  .      67,  192,  508,  539,  593 

Hiller 570 

Klopstock,  Friedrich  Gottlieb  .     17,  405 

Knapp,  Albert 128 

Korner 358 

Lange 105,  452 

Luther,  Martin 359 

Neander,  Joachim 282 

Riickert,  Friedrich 344 

Schiller,  Friedrich 411 

Schweizer,  Mela  Heusser    .     .     .       114 

Seidl 495 

Silesius,  Angelus 444,  470 

Spitta,  Charles  J.  P 15 

Sturm,  Julius 435 

Tersteegen,  Gerhardt ....    257,  458 
Uhland,  Ludwig 399 

RUSSIAN. 
Derzhavin 31 

PERSIAN. 
Dscheladeddin 308 

SPANISH. 

Lope  db  Vega 263 

St.  Teresa 33° 


fi? 


INDEX    OF   AUTHORS, 


6; 


FRENCH. 

PAGE 

GuYON,  Jeanne  de  la  Mothe  •  .  535 
Rascas,  Bernard 479 

ENGLISH. 

Adams,  Sarah  Flower     ....       332 

Addison,  Joseph 493»  49^ 

Alexander,  Cecil  .  .  .  .95,  13 5.  326 
Alexander,  William     .    59,  163,  388,  390 

Alford,  Henry 126,  361 

Arnold,  Matthew 291,  383 

Auber,  Harriet 118 

Austin,  John 3" 

Barton,  Bernard 377>  397 

Baxter,  Richard 577 

Baynes,  R.  H 146 

Bethune,  George 477 

Black,  C.  J 10 

Bonar,  Horatius,  9,    138,    140,  348,  463, 

465,  503,  533,  537»  560,  5^ 

Bowring,  Sir  John  .     .     .     284,  357,  380 

Bradford,  Sarah  H 406 

Bronte,  Anne      ....     276,  342,  530 

Browning,   Elizabeth  Barrett,  236,  245, 

450,  526,  527 

Bryant,  William  C 375 

Brydges,  Matthew 112,  174 

Bulwer,  Sir  Edward  Lytton      .     .       395 

Bums,  Robert 252 

Butler,  James  D 197 

Cadell,  cm 176 

Campbell,  Thomas 98 

Cary,  Phoebe 412,  511 

Caswall,  Edward 26 

Charles,  Eliiabeth 313 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh     ....       339 

Coleridge,  Hartley 454 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  .  .  129,  488 
Cowper,  William  55,  379,  451,  1532,  561 
Coxe,  Arthur  Cleveland  ....  558 
Crdy,  George 316 

Dana,  William  C 566 

Denny,  Sir  Edward 564 

De  Fleury 63 

De  Vere,  Aubrey 204,  301 


PAGE 

Dickson.  Samuel  Henry  .     ...        27 

Dix,  William  C 93,  no 

Doane,  George  W 5^7 

Doddridge,  Philip 59,  5  >^ 

Edmeston,  James 589 

Elliott,  Charlotte,  347,  355,  356,  536,  538, 

563 

Faber,  Frederick  William,  166,  231,  265, 

267,  269,  302,  351,  423,  427,  543,  552, 

557 

Fenner,  C.  S 253 

Ford,  C.  L 455 

Grant 62,  278,  343,  466 

Hawker,  R.  S 90 

Heber,  Reginald 94)  272 

Herbert,  George,   12,  121,  260,  261,  2621 
263,  322,  385,  498,  499)  522 

Herrick,  Robert 69 

Hillhouse,  Abraham  L 513 

Holland.  John  G 86,  417 

Hood,  Thomas 218 

Ingelow,  Jean 299 

JONSON,  Ben 251 

Keble,  John,  7,  32,   117,  422,  424,  489 

Ken,  Thomas 35 

Kimball,  Harriet  M 206 

Kinney,  E.  C 233,  304 

Kirkham 437 

Lee,  F.  G 102 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  211,  213,  217,  238, 

396,  430 

Lyte,  Henry  Francis  ....      18,  281 

Mason,  John 5°)  123,  517 

Massey,  Gerald  ....     210,  219,  434 

McCheyne,  Robert  M 515 

Medley,  Samuel 64,  514 

Meredith,  Owen 448 

Miles,  Sarah  A 421 

Milman,  Henry  Hart 164 

Milton,  John 87,  549 

Monsell,  J.  S.  B.    .    .    .     133.  258,  31^ 


#- 


->— Hh 


652 


INDEX    OF   AUTHORS, 


PAGE 

Montgomery,  James  .  57,  398,  594,  595 
Moore,  Thomas,  209,  299,  375,  376,  454, 
457.  483?  492 
Muhlenberg,  William  A.  .  .  491,  596 
Muloch,  Dinah  Maria,  89,  149,  215,  523, 
528,  553 

Nairne,  Countess  of 605 

Neale,  J.  M 96 

Newman,  John  H.       -321,  362,  418,  419 
Newton,  John 531 

Ogilvie 484 

Olivers,  Thomas 48 

Palgrave,   Francis  Turner,   6,  27,  33, 

289,  34o»  386,  449 

Palmer,  Ray,  73,  127,  137,  195,  275,  349, 

363,  370,  467 

Pierpont,  John 229 

Pope,  Alexander 602 

Priest,  N.  A.  W 400 

Prime,  S.  Irenaeus 404 

Procter,  Adelaide  Anne,  22,  gi,  205,  320, 

382,  510 
Randolph,  Anson  D.  F.  .  .  .  353 
Rossetti,  Christina  G.,  82,  88,  168,  169, 

257.  545 
Rutherford,  Samuel 602 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 378 

Sears,  Edmund 97)  99 

Shirley,  James 203 


page 
Sigoumey,  Lydia  Huntley  ...        66 

Skelton,  Philip 486 

Southey,  Robert 306 

Spenser,  Edmund 443 

Stammers,  Joseph xSi 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  85, 151,  322,  337,  33^, 
393,  606 

Timrod,  Henry 222 

Thompson,  A.  R 502 

Toplady,  Augustus  M 365 

Trench,  Richard  Chenevix,  147,  260,  305, 
306,  309,  316,  345,  413,  446,  505 


Vaughan,  Henry 


C44,  246,  501,  567 


Waring,  A.  L 317,  546 

Watts,  Isaac 165,  500 

Webb,  Thomas  W 279 

Wesley,  Charles      .      323,  325,   459,  472 

White,  Henry  Kirke 494 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  170,  224,  243, 

319,  366,  380,  387,  391,  428,  521,  542, 

57S 

Wither,  George 23,  214 

Wilberforce 426 

Williams,  Isaac loi,  364 

Williams,  H.  M 559 

Wordsworth,  Christopher    .     .     .       124 

Wordsworth,  William 558 

Wotton,  Sir  Henry 366 


INDEX    OF    TRANSLATORS. 


-9— Bfl 


PAGE 

Benedict,  Erastus  C     .     .    .     41,  255 

Bonar,  Horatius 70 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett  .  .  293 
Bryant,  William  C 479 

Caswall,  Edward 76,  330 

Charles,  Elizabeth,  158,  172,  190,  240,  436 
Coxe.  Arthur  Cleveland  ....  283 
Crewdson,  Jane 72 

Dix,  William  C 92 

Drjden,  John 74 

Dunn,  R.  E 462,  568,  570 

Knox 56 

Kynaston,  H 188 


LiTTLEDALE,  Richard  Frederick  . 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth     . 


77 
263 


PAGE 
MONSELL,  J.  B 178 

Moultrie,  G 143 

Neale,  J.  M.,  34,  40,  52,  6s,  81,  104, 

134,  146,  151,  182,  183,  185,  196,  295, 

415,  416,  438,  612,  621 

Newman,  John  H 14 

Palmer,  Ray    ....      130,  471,  474 
Porter,  Thomas 114 

Slossox,  Edward 155 

Tholuck 308 

Thompson,  A.  R 107 

Trench,  Richard  Chenevix  .     .    328,  608 

Washburne,  E.  A 108,119 

Winkworth,  Catharine     .     344,  350,  444 
Wackerbarth 608 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES. 


-^—fih 


LATIN    HYMNS. 

PAGE 

Ad  perennis  vitse  fontem  ....  608 
Ad  perennis  vitae  fontem  mens  siti- 

vit  arida 616 

Adsis,  superne  Spiritus      ....  70 

Alleluia  piis  edite  laudibus     .     .     .  613 

A  et  fl  magne  Deus 41 

Apparebit  repentina   magna    Dies 

Domini 151 

Aurora  ccelum  purpurat     ....  107 


Beata  Christi  passio    . 


173 


Cantemus  cuncti 52 

Cor  meum  tibi  dedo,  Jesu  dulcissime  474 

Crucem  pro  nobis  subiit     ....  173 

Dies  ilia,  dies  vitae 158 

Dies  irae,  Dies  ilia 155 

Gloriosi  Salvatoris 65 

Gravi  me  terrore  pulsas,  vitas  dies 

ultima 255 

HoRA  novissima,  tempora  pessima, 

sunt,  vigilemus 621 

Hord  qui  ductus  tertia 172 

I  PR^:   sequar 340 

Jam  desinant  suspiria loi 

Jam  lucis  orto  sidere 14 

Jam  mcesta  quiesce  querela   .     .     .  240 

Jesu,  decus  angelicum 462 

Jesu,  dulcedo  cordium 471 

Jesu,  dulcis  memoria 476 


Laudes  crucis  attollamus . 
Lucis  Largitor  splendlde  . 


I8S 
16 


Nunc  sancte  nobis  Spiritus 


PAGE 

72 


O  CARE  mi  Jesu 283 

O  crux  quae  sola  languentes    .     .     .  177 

O  Deus,  ego  amo  te 477 

O  Ignis  Spiritus  Paracliti  ....  ^^ 

Pange,    lingua,    gloriosi    corporis 

mysterium 130 

Pange,  lingua,  gloriosi  pretium  cer- 

taminis 183 

Pone  luctum,  Magdalena  ....  108 

Qui  jacuisti  mortuus 173 

Salve,  Caput  cruentatum      .    .     .  190 
Salve,   festa  dies,   toto  venerabilis 

asvo Ill 

Salve,  mundi- salutare 188 

Sicut  chorda  musicorum    ....  436 

Simplex  in  Essentia 119 

Stabat  mater  dolorosa 178 

Supernae  Matris  Gaudia    ....  81 

Tu  qui  velatus  facie 172 

Urit  me  patriae  decor 608 

Veni,  Creator  Spiritus 74 

Veni,  sancte  Spiritus 76 

Vexilla  Regis  prodeunt      ....  182 

GREEK    HYMNS. 

'Avaaraaiioc  Vfiepa        ....  104 
'A<f>eT7]  TU  naidia  epxeodai  izpoc 

i"f 27 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


655 


Ao^a  Iv  vxplaToig  deCi     ....  92 

Ei  Koi  TO.  Tzapovra 415 

'I60V  yhp,  7  Qaotlela  tov  Qeov 

EVTog  vfiCw  kari 386 

'iTjooii  y'kvKvraTe 295 

KoTTOv  re  /cat  KafxaTcv  ....  196 

Ki'pie,  kTierjaov 289 

'O  Kt'ptof  epxerat 146 

liTOfxtov  TVuTiuv  uSaiJv  ....  54 

Tug  edpag  Tag  uiuviag   ....  416 

Trjv  r^ixepav  6ie?M(jv 34 

To  fieya  fivaTrjpiov 134 

Tpit^kyyrjg  Movof  deapxcKf/    .    .  40 

TCyp  lepuv  a0?M(l>(fpcjv    ....  438 

GERMAN  HYMNS. 

AcH  Jesu,  •wie  so  schon     ....  593 

Ach  treuer  Gott !  barmhertzigs  Hertz  539 

Auferstehn,  ja  auferstehn  wirst  du  .  405 

Brexnende     Liebe,     du     heilige 

Flamme 506 

Der  Mond  ist  aufgegangen    ...  30 

Der  Herr  ist  auferstanden      .     .     .  105 

GoTTLOB  ein  Schritt  zur  Ewigkeit .  590 

HiER  lieg*  ich,  Herr  im  Staube      .  286 

Im  Osten  flammt  empor  die  goldene 

Sonne 15 

Ist  Gott  fur  mich  so  trete  ....  508 

Keine  Schonheit  hat  die  Welt  .     .  444 
Kein    Lammlein    auf    des    Hirten 

Schoos 570 


Lamm,  das  gelitten,  und  Lowe,  der 

siegreich  gerungen      .     . 
Liebe  die  du  mich  so  milde    . 


Nein,  nein,  das  ist  kein  sterben 

O  Du  allersiiszste  Freude      .     . 
O  Haupt  vol!  Blut  und  Wunden 
O  Vaterhertz  das  Erd  und  Himmel 
schuf 


ScHONSTBR  Herr  Jesu      .     .     . 
Sieh  hier  bin  ich,  Ehrenkonig    . 

Um  Mittemacht  bin  ich  erwacht 
Unter  jenen  grossen  Jahren  .     . 

WiE  ein  Vogel  lieblich  singet 
Wie  wohl  ist  mir,  O   Freund  der 
Seelen 


114 
470 

56S 

67 
192 

128 


344 
452 


13 

583 


SPANISH   HYMN. 
Vivo  sin  vi\-ir  en  mi 330 

ENGLISH     HYMNS. 

Abide  with  me  !  fast  falls  the  even- 
tide   18 

Across  the  sea,  along  the  shore  .     .     339 
Ah  !  dearest  Lord,  I  cannot  pray   .     269 
Ah  !  hush  now  your  mournful  com- 
plainings    240 

Ah !    what  time  wilt   thou    come  ? 

when  shall  that  cry    ....     144 

A  little  bird  I  am 535 

"  Allah,  Allah ! ' '  cried  the  sick  man, 
racked  with  pain  the  long  night 

through 3'58 

All  are  not  taken !  there  are  left  be- 
hind       527 

Alleluia !    let  the  sound  of  cheerful 

praises  ring 613 

All  night  the  lonely  suppliant  prayed  309 
All  praise  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night  35 
All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall 

wholly  pass  away 479 

Am  I  a  stone,  and  not  a  sheep   .     .     257 


656 


INDEX    OF   FIRST  LINES. 


PAGE 

And  is  there  care  in  heaven,  and  is 

there  love 443 

Another  hand  is  beckoning  us    .     .  224 

Are  thy  toils  and  woes  increasing   .  415 

Arise !  this  day  shall  shine    .     .    .  205 

Around  Bethesda's  healing  wave     .  377 

Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid    .  196 

As  a  bird  in  meadows  fair  ...  13 
As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of 

the  ocean 376 

As  the  harp-strings  only  render  .     .  436 

At  dead  of  night 344 

Awake,  my  soul  1  not  only  passive 

praise 4^8 

Awake,  my  soul,  to  joyful  lays  .     .  64 

Away  with  sorrow's  sigh    .     .     .     .  loi 

A  worthy  man  of  Paris  town      .     .  384 

Because  I  hold  it  sinful  to  despond  425 

Before  the  paling  of  the  stars     .     .  88 

Begin,  my  soul,  the  exalted  lay  .  .  484 
Behold,  the  BridegroQm  cometh  in 

the  middle  of  the  night   ...  143 

Be  the  cross  our  theme  and  story  .  185 
Beyond   these   chilling  winds   and 

gloomy  skies 400 

Blest  Comforter  divine 66 

Blest  is  the  faith  divine  and  strong  .  557 
Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the 

morning 94 

By  anguish  which  made  pale  the  sun  526 

Calm  lay  the  city  in  a  double  sleep  141 
Calm  me,  my  God,  and  keep  me 

calm 560 

Calm  on  the  listening  ear  of  night    .  97 

Child,  by  God's  sweet  mercy  given  22S 
Christ  in  his  heavenly  garden  walks 

all  day .  449 

Christ's  blessed  passion  set  us  free  173 

Come,  heavenly  Spirit,  come      .     .  70 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  in  love    ...  73 

Come,  O  thou  Traveller  unknown  459 
Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  ye 

languish 375 

Creator  Spirit,  by  whose  aid  ...  74 
Count  each  affliction,  whether  light 

or  grave 204 


PAGE 

Day  of  wrath  !  of  daj's  that  Day   .  155 
Dear  Lord,  in  all  our  loneliest  pains  427 
Deep  on  the  convent-roof  the  snows  606 
Down  through  the  hushed  and  thick- 
ening air 176 

Earth's  lamps  are  growing  dim     .  9 

Fain  would  my  thoughts  fly  up  to 

thee -311 

Fairest  Lord  Jesus 444 

Far  from  the  world,  O  Lord,  I  flee  561 
Father !  before  thy  footstool  kneeling  207 

Father!  by  thy  love  and  power  .     .  28 

Father,  God,  my  God,  all-seeing  .     .  41 

Father,  I  know  that  all  my  life  .     .  317 

Father  of  all !  my  Father  too     .     .  27 

Father  of  love,  who  didst  not  spare  273 

Father,  to  thee  I  cry 358 

Fighting  the  battle  of  life  ....  302 
Fill  thou  my  life,  O  Lord,  my  God  503 
Fling  out  the  banner!  Let  it  float  587 
For  us  the  bitter  cross  he  bore  .  .  173 
From  my  lips  in  their  defilement  .  293 
From  tangled  ways  by  which  I  wan- 
dered far 131 

From  the  recesses  of  a  lonely  spirit  2S4 

God  bless  the  little  feet  that  can 

never  go  astray 226 

God  comes!    and  who  shall  stand 

before  his  face 146 

"  God  lent   him  and   takes   him," 

you  sigh 245 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way  .  379 
God  rest  ye,  merry  gentlemen!    let 

nothing  you  dismay  ....  89 
God's  child  in   Christ  adopted,  — 

Christ  my  all 129 

Go  not  far  from  me,  O  my  Strength  546 

Great  waves  of  plenty  rolling  up     .  511 

Had'st  thou  stayed,  I  must  have 

fled 430 

Hail,  Day  of  days !  in  peals  of  praise  1 1 1 

Hail,  kingly  Jesus !  to  thy  feet  .  .  502 
Hail,  thou  Head!    so  bruised  and 

wounded 190 

Hail  to  the  Lord's  Anointed    •     .     •  57 


INDEX    OF   FIRST   LINES. 


657 


PAGE 

Happy  name  I  you,  my  brethren, 

who  not  ever  doomed  to  roam  .  328 

Happy  the  man  whose  hopes  rely  .  500 
Hark,  hark,  my  soul  !  angelic  songs 

are  swelling 552 

Hark,  my  soul !  it  is  the  Lord  .     .  451 

Hear  me,  O  God 251 

Heaven  is  not  reached  by  a  single 

bound 417 

Here  behold  me,  as  I  cast  me  .  .  282 
Here,  O  my  Lord,  I  see  thee  face 

to  face 140 

He  saves  the  sheep,  the  goats  he 

does  not  save 383 

High  the  angel  choirs  are  raising  .  615 
High  thoughts  at  first  and  visions 

high 413 

His  courtiers  of  the  caliph  crave     .  446 

His  Holy  Spirit  dwelleth  ....  508 

Holiness  on  the  head 385 

Holy  Saviour,  Friend  unseen     .     .  356 

Holy  Spirit,  Lord  of  Light    ...  76 

How  calm,  how  beautiful,  he  lies  .  233 
How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of 

the  Lord 437 

How  should  I  praise  thee,  Lord! 

how  should  my  rhymes  .  .  .  498 
How  sweetly  flowed  the   gospel's 

sound 380 

I  AM  far  frae   my  hame,  an'   I'm 

weary  oftenwhiles 610 

I  am  old  and  blind 550 

I  asked  the  Lord  that  I  might  grow  531 
I  ask  not  now  for  gold  to  gild  .  .319 
I  bore  with  thee  long  weary  days 

and  nights 169 

I  cannot  make  him  dead    ....  229 

I  cannot  ope  my  eyes 12 

I  come,  dear  Lord,  like  a  tired  child 

to  creep 19 

I  come,  O  Lord,  to  thee    ....  279 

I  come  to  thee  to-night  ....  20 
I  do  not  ask,  O  Lord,  that  life  may 

be              320 

If  I  were  told  that  I  must  die  to- 
morrow        581 

If  Jesus  came  to  earth  again      .     .  448 

I  found  him  not  in  world  or  sun      .  338 


PAGE 

I  give  my  heart  to  thee      ....  474 

I  had  drunk  with  lips  unsated     .     .  412 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say   .     .  566 

I  hear  the  words  of  love  .  •■  .  .  138 
I  hoped  that  with   the  brave  and 

strong             530 

I  know  it  is  my  sinne  which  locks 

thine  eares 260 

I  know  not  if  the  dark  or  bright      .  361 

I  know  not  what  may  befall  me  .     .  360 

I  like  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase     .  396 

I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years  578 

I'm  wearin'  awa',  Jean       ....  605 

In  his  wide  fields  walks  the  Master  149 
In  the  Fount  of  life  perennial  the 

parched  heart  its  thirst  would 

slake 616 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress      ...  69 

In  the  hush  of  April  weather  .  .  523 
In  the   June  twilight,  in  the  soft, 

gray  twilight 215 

In  the  mid  silence  of  the  voiceless 

night 562 

In  the  still  air  the  music  lies  unheard  537 

In  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares  210 

In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fear  .  126 
I  saw  again,  behold  !  heaven's  open 

door 390 

I  saw  the  Synnan  sunset's  meteor- 
crown   388 

I  say  to  thee,  —  do  thou  repeat  .  .  345 
I  struck  the  board,  and  cried,  "  No 

more  " 522 

It  came  upon  the  midnight  clear     .  99 

I  thirst!  the  blessed  Saviour  said  .  174 

It  kindles  all  my  soul 608 

It  may  be  in  the  evening    ....  574 

I  was  a  wandering  sheep    ....  465 

I  worship  thee,  sweet  will  of  God  .  543 
I  would  not  live  alway,  —  live  a!way 

below 596 

I  would  that  I  were  fairer.  Lord      .  312 

Jesu,  my  strength,  my  hope  •     .     .  323 

Jesu,  name  all  names  above  .     .     .  295 

Jesu,  the  very  thought  of  thee    .     .  476 

Jesus,  hail !  the  world's  salvation   .  188 

Jesus,  I  love  thy  charming  name     .  59 

Jesus,  I  love  thee,  —  not  because    .  477 


«H — «- 


^^ 


658 


INDEX    OF   FIRST   IINES. 


PAGE 

Jesus,  Lamb  of  God,  for  me           .  349 

Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul    ....  325 

Jesus,  pitying  Saviour,  hear  me      .  257 

Jesus,  Saviour,  pass  not  by    .     .     .  304 

Jesus,  these  eyes  have  never  seen  .  467 

Jesus,  thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts     .  471 

Jesus,  whose  name  the  angel  hosts  462 

Judge  not !  the  workings  of  his  brain  382 

Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea  .     .  355 

King  of  comforts!   King  of  life      .  501 

King  of  glorie.  King  of  peace    .     .  499 

Lamb,  the  once  crucified!   Lion,  by 

triumph  surrounded    ....  114 
Late,  late,  so  late!    and  dark  the 

night  and  chill 151 

Lead,  kindly  light,  amid  th'  encir- 
cling gloom 362 

Let  our  choir  new  anthems  raise     .  438 

Like  silver  lamps  in  a  distant  shrine  93 

Little  travellers  Zionward  ....  589 
Lord,  at  this  moment  thou  art  surely 

here 285 

Lord  God  of  morning  and  of  night  .  6 
Lord,   many  times   I   am   a-weary 

quite 260 

Lord,  it  belongs  not  to  my  care  .     .  577 

Lord  of  earth  !  thy  bounteous  hand  466 
"Lord,   thou  art   great!"    I   cry, 

when  in  the  east 495 

Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one 

short  hour 305 

Lord,   what  am   I,   that,  with   un- 
ceasing care 263 

Lord,  with  what  care  hast  thou  be- 
girt us  round 262 

Lord,  who  art  merciful  as  well  as 

just 306 

Lo!  the  Day,  the  Day  of  Life  .     .  158 

Love  Divine,  all  love  excelling  .     .  472 

Many  a  gift  did  Christ  impart  .  .  452 
My  babe  !  my  tiny  babe  !   my  only 

babe 222 

My  faith  looks  up  to  thee  ....  370 

My  God,  is  any  hour  so  sweet  .  •  563 
My  God,   I  thank  thee  who   hast 

made 510 


My  God!  lo,  here  before  thy  face  . 
My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray 
My  God,  oh  let  me  call  thee  mine 
My  Lord,  my  Love,  was  crucified 
My  Saviour,  what  thou  didst  of  old 
My  Saviour,  whom  absent  I  love 
My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord 
My  sins,  my  sins,  my  Saviour    . 
My  soul,  there  is  a  country    .     . 
Mysterious  is  thy  presence,  Lord 
My  times  are  in  thy  hands     .     . 


PAGE 

286 
538 
276 
123 
350 

55 
517 
258 

567 
133 
600 


Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee     .     .    .  332 

No  bird-song  floated  down  the  hiil  391 

No  lambkin  by  its  shepherd  borne  570 

No,  no,  it  is  not  dying 568 

Not  always  as  the  whirlwind's  rush  380 

Nothing  fair  on  earth  I  see    .     .     .  444 

Not  seldom,  clad  in  radiant  vest     .  558 

Not  thou  from  us,  O  Lord      .     .     .  316 

No  war,  nor  battle's  sound  ...  87 
Now   that   the    day-star    glimmers 

bright 14 

O  BIRDS  from  out  the  east,  O  birds 

from  out  the  west 401 

O  blessed  Lord 353 

O  blessed  my  Jesu 2S3 

O  bread  to  pilgrims  given  ....  137 

O  Christ,  how  good  and  fair  .     .     .  5^3 

O  cross,  that  only  knovvest  the  woes  1 77 

O  day  most  calm,  most  bright     .     .  121 

O  day  of  rest  and  gladness     .     .     .  124 

O  eyes  that  are  weary 570 

O  faithful  God  !  O  pitying  Heart    .  539 

O  faith,  thou  workest  miracles    .     .  351 

O  father-heart,  who  hast  created  all  128 
O  Fire  of  God  the  Comforter!    O 

Life  of  all  that  live  ....  77 
O  friend  of  souls!    how  blest  the 

time 583 

O  God,  O  Kinsman  loved,  but  not 

enough 299 

O  God,  thy  power  is  wonderful  .  .  423 
Oh,  could   I  speak   the   matchless 

worth 514 

Oh  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone   .  375 

Oh  do  not  use  me 261 


INDEX    OF   FIRST  LINES. 


659 


PAGE 

O  head,  so  full  of  bruises  ....  181 

Oh  for  the  happy  days  gone  by  .  .  267 
Oh  !    I  could  go  through  all   life's 

troubles  singing 265 

O  Holy  Spirit,  who  art  One  ...  72 

Oh  let  my  trembling  soul  be  still     .  357 

Oh  say  not  thou  art  left  of  God  .  419 
Oh !    sometimes  gleams  upon   our 

sight 387 

Oh.  sweetly  breathe  the  lyres  above  363 

Oh,  timely  happy,  timely  wise    .     .  7 

O  Jesus  !  sweet  the  tears  I  shed     .  195 

O  light  of  life,  O  Saviour  dear    .     .  33 

O  living  Will,  that  shalt  endure  .     •  322 

6  Lord  God  eternal 289 

O  Lord,  my  best  desire  fiilfil  •     •     .  532 

O  Love,  who  formedst  me  to  wear  470 

O  loving  One  !  O  bounteous  One    .  509 

O  Mother  dear,  Jerusalem     .     .     .  636 

One  Priest  alone  can  pardon  me      .  572 

O  sacred  Head  !  now  wounded  .     .  192 

O  soul  of  Jesus,  sick  to  death     .     .  166 

O  the  mystery,  passing  wonder  .  .  134 
O  thou  Great  Power,  in  whom  I 

move •  366 

O  thou,  not  made  with  hands      .     .  386 

O  thou,  the  contrite  sinner's  Friend  347 

O  thou  who  by  a  star  didst  guide  .  96 
O  thou  who  driest  the   mourner's 

tear 209 

O  thou  who,  though  with  veiled  face  1 72 

O  thou,  who  layedst  dead,  the  King  173 
O  thou  eternal  one,  whose  presence 

bright 3 

O  unity  of  threefold  light  ....  40 
Our  blest  Redeemer,  ere  he  breathed  118 
O  wonderful!  round  whose  birth- 
hour      59 

O  ye  who  say,  "  We  have  a  child  in 

heaven " 219 

Pain's     furnace-heat     within     me 

quivers 435 

Poor  earth,  poor  heart,  —  too  weak, 

too  weak 236 

Poore  heart,  lament 263 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings 

flow 55."? 


PAGE 

Prune  thou  thy  words,  thy  thoughts 

control 321 

Put  on  thy  beautiful  robes.  Bride  of 

Christ no 

Rest,  weary  Son  of  God  I    and  I, 

with  thee 463 

Rise,  glorious  Conqueror  I  rise.     .  112 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me     .     .     .  365 

Room  for  our  treasure,  closed  tomb  213 

Safe  home,  safe  home  in  port    .     .  612 

Saviour!   though  my  rebellious  will  536 

Saviour,  when  in  dust  to  thee     .     •  278 

Shall  we  grow  weary  in  our  watch  .  428 

She  brought  her  box  of  alabaster    .  455 

Shepherd  of  tender  youth       ...  54 

She  sat,  and  wept  beside  his  feet.  434 
Since  first  thy  word  awaked  my  heart  457 

Since  o'er  thy  footstool  here  below  491 

Sing,  and  the  mystery  declare     .     .  130 

Sing,  my  tongue,  the  glorious  battle  183 

Sleep  :   Holy  Babe 26 

Some   murmur  when   their  sky  is 

clear 505 

Something,  my  God,  for  thee  .  -327 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 

dark  sea 4S3 

Speak  to  me,  O  my  Saviour,  low 

and  sweet 450 

Speechless  sorrow  sat  with  me  .  .  206 
Spirit   of  God !   descend  upon  my 

heart 316 

Still  thy  sorrow,  Magdalena  .  .  .  108 
Stood  the  mourning  Mother  weeping  178 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  love  337 

Sunlight  upon  Judea's  hills  .  .  .  170 
Sweet  baby,  sleep!    what  ails  my 

dear 23 

Sweetest  Fount  of  holy  gladness  .  67 
Sweet  was  the  hour,  O   Lord,  to 

thee 564 

Take  me,  O  my  Father,  take  me  .  275 

Take  them,  O  Death,  and  bear  away  213 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King  .  .  322 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand 

sung 588 


66o 


INDEX    OF   FIRST   LINES. 


PAGE 

Thank  God,  that  towards  eternity  •  590 

That  great  Day  of  wrath  and  terror  151 
The  Advent  mom  shines  cold  and 

clear 82 

The  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies  .  299 
The  board  is  spread  with  meats  di- 
vine       '.     ...  135 

The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast  364 
The  Church  on  earth,  with  answer- 
ing love 81 

The  City  of  the  Lord  I  see    .     .     .  404 

The  day  is  past  and  over     ....  34 

The  dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day  .  397 
Thee  will  I  love,  my  strength  and 

tower 468 

The  festal  morn,  my  God,  is  come  .  T22 

The  fourteen  centuries  fall  away     .  366 

The  God  of  Abrah'm  praise  ...  48 

The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state  .  203 
The   golden   morn   flames   up    the 

eastern  sky         15 

The  life  above,  the  life  on  high  .     .  330 

The  Lord  of  life  is  risen  ....  105 
The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  he  makes 

me  repose 56 

The  moon  hath  risen  on  high      .     .  30 

The  moon  that  now  is  shining     .     .  91 

The  morning  purples  all  the  sky  .  107 
There  are  three   lessons   I   would 

write 411 

Therefore,  now,  a  last  good-night  .  599 
Therefore,  O  friend,  I  would  not  if 

I  might 545 

There  is  a  book,  who  runs  may  read  489 
There  is  a  land  where  beauty  will 

not  fade 399 

There  is  a  rapturous  movement,  a 

green  growing 163 

There  is  a  reaper  whose  name   is 

Death 217 

There  is  no  death!     The  stars  go 

down 395 

There  is  no  flock,  however  watched 

and  tended 23S 

There  nor  \vaxing  moon  nor  waning  608 

There's  a  song  in  the  air   ....  86 

The  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn      .  326 

The  royal  banners  forward  go     .     .  182 

The  sands  of  time  are  sinking    .     .  602 


PACE 

The  shadows  of  the  evening  hours  22 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high    .  493 

The  strain  upraise  of  joy  and  praise  52 
The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of 

Christ 85 

The  tuneful  sound  of  music  ...  39 

The  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem  214 
The  winds  were  howling  o'er  the 

deep 272 

The  wise  men  to  thy  cradle-throne  95 

The  world  is  very  evil 621 

They  are  all  gone  into  a  world  of 

light 246 

They  lay  their  corner-stones  in  dark  434 

Thine  is  a  grief,  the  depth  of  which  243 

This  place  is  holy  ground  ....  398 

Those  eternal  bowers 416 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light  492 

Thou  bounteous  giver  of  the  light  .  16 
Thou    burning    Love,    thou    holy 

Flame 506 

Though  I  walk  the  downward  shade'  595 
Thou  hidden  love  of  God,  whose 

height 458 

Thou  inevitable  day 147 

Thou  knowest.  Lord,  the  weariness 

and  sorrow 529 

Thou  Love  Divine,  encircling  all     .  473 

Thou  say  est,  "  Take  up  thy  cross  "  340 
Thou  shalt  rise !  my  dust,  thou  shalt 

arise 405 

Thou  that  once  on  mother's  knee  .  27 
Thou  touchest  us  lightly,  O  God,  in 

our  grief 231 

Thou  wast,  O  God,  and  thou  wast 

blest 50 

Thou  who  at  the  third  hour  wast  led  172 
Thou  who  didst  hang  upon  a  barren 

tree 16S 

Thou,  who  didst  sit  on  Jacob's  well  422 

Thou,  who  didst  stoop  below      .     .  421 

Thou  who  dost  dwell  alone     .     .     .  2  )i 

Thou  who  One  in  Essence  livest     .  119 

Thy  way,  not  mine,  O  Lord  .  .  .  533 
Time  was  I  shrank  from  what  was 

right 418 

'Tis  gone,  that  bright   and   orbed 

blaze 32 

'Tis  he!  'tis  he!     I  know  him  now  477 


-0—Hh 


INDEX    OF   FIRST  LIAFS. 


PAGE 

'Tis  the  day  of  Resurrection  .     .     .  104 

To-day  in  Bethlehem  hear  I  .     .     .  92 

To-day  we  cut  the  fragrant  sod  .     .  235 

To  God,  ye  choir  above,  begin    .     .  486 

To  thee,  O  dear,  long-suffering  Lord  277 

To  the  Name  that  brings  salvation  65 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes  52 1 

Trembling  before  thine  awful  throne  513 
'Twas  in  the  morning  cold,  when 

earth 10 

Two  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of 

Death 211 

Two  hands  upon  the  breast    .     .     .  528 

Two  thousand  years  ago,  a  flower  .  406 

Unto   thy  feast  with   heart   deep 

hushed 139 

Up  from  the  deeps,  O  God,  I  cry  to 

thee 253 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame  .     •  602 

We  come  not  with  a  costly  store      .  456 

Welcome!  that  star  in  Judah's  sky  90 
We  may  not   climb    the    heavenly 

steeps 428 

We  praise  thee,    Saviour,   for  the 

grace 127 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears    .  454 

We  see  not,  know  not  all  our  way  .  542 
We  watched  her  breathing  through 

the  night 218 

Whatever  crazy  sorrow  saith  .     .     .  393 

When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God    .  496 

When  at  thy  footstool,  Lord.  I  bend  281 
When  Christ  let  fall  that  sanguine 

shower       . 301 

When  death  is  coming  near  .  .  .  420 
When  God  came  down  from  heaven, 

the  living  God 164 

When  God  of  old  came  down  from 

heaven 117 


661 


PAGE 


When    I   consider    how   my   light  is 

spent 549 

When  I  rise  again  to  life    ....  17 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved  ■  378 

When  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross  165 

When  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still  98 

When  landing  first  on  Sharon's  plain  197 
When   marshalled   on    the    niglitly 

plain 494 

When   prayer   delights   thee    least, 

then  learn  to  say 306 

When  some  beloveds,  'neath  whose 

eyelids  long 527 

When    sorrow  all  our  heart  would 

ask 424 

When,  streaming  from  the  eastern 

skies 62 

When  the  morning,  half  in  shadow  220 

When  the  sky  is  black  and  lowering  359 
When   the   world  slept  and   night 

was  on      ...     .          ...  IC2 

When  this  passing  world  is  done  .  515 
Where  hast  thou  been  toiling  all  day, 

sweetheart 313 

Where  once   Samaria's  deep,   cold 

well  had  given 566 

While  faith  is  with  me  I  am  blest    .  342 

Whilst  thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power  559 

Who  are  these,  in  bright  array  .  .  594 
Why  am  I  loath  to  leave  this  earthly 

scene 252 

Why  stand  I  lingering  without   .     .  348 

Within  this  leaf,  to  ever>'  eye  .  .  426 
With  terror  thou  dost  strike  me  now-, 

life's  fearful  dying  day  .  .  .  255 
With  years  oppressed,  with  sorrows 

worn 343 

Ye  angels,  who  stand  round  the  throne  63 
Years  cannot  make  their  strength 

decay 55S 

Ye  golden  lamps  of  heaven,  fare- 
well    598 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


■^— Me 


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